


In the Clear

by aclosetlarryshipper



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, I am actually very excited about this because it's an original fairytale, M/M, Minor Character Death, Tbh violence is probably the only real trigger tag I'll need?, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aclosetlarryshipper/pseuds/aclosetlarryshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Princess Gemma and her fiance Niall are captured by the witch from across the land, Harry and Louis are forced on a journey together to save them. </p><p>Featuring Lumberjack Liam, Magical Zayn, unsolicited tattoos, and untangling the past.</p><p>Also known as The Larrietale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The *Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know much about royalty or how that works, but it isn't the heart of the story so I hope it's alright.
> 
> The smut in this is minimal (probably a mix between teen and mature) but the violence and death is definitely mature. If you've read my other fics, this is much darker than what I normally write. If you have issues with violence/blood/abuse/darkness/manipulation, then this might not be the fic for you. It ends happily, though. (ETA because I feel like I might have been too dramatic with my warning- the dark themes are definitely there, but the story is also sprinkled with a lot of hopefulness and good stuff too. I don't think I would actually label this a ~dark fic. It's literally a fairy tale.)
> 
> The first few paragraphs of the chapters will be in italics. These will all continue and create their own prologue-ish story. But I wanted to split it all up because I didn't want to ruin all of the secrets at once.
> 
> I made this fairytale up, but there's inspiration from Frozen, The Princess Bride, Rapunzel, Castle, Once Upon a Time, The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, etc. Thank you Danny for the plot-hole advice!
> 
> I hope you like!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com)

_~_

_Once upon a time, the Cox monarchy ruled an entire kingdom. Their land was large, green, and warm year-round, split in half by an enchanted forest many miles long and wide. The forest was safe, populated by friendly fairies, elves, imps, unicorns, and even merpeople._

_The kingdom’s inhabitants were, more than anything, happy. The Coxes was good to their people. No mouth was left unfed and the rulers took time out of their day to listen to the complaints of the people they were serving._

_~_

**The Past**

** 13 and 15 **

“You’ll get your shoes dirty,” Louis reminded Prince Harry. “And your mum will have both of our heads.”

They were on their way to the enchanted forest, all due to Harry’s nagging and insistence that he needed to go there for some unknown reason.

The Prince was a mysterious one. Though perhaps mysterious was the wrong word—more weird.

“I don’t care,” Harry pouted. He pushed through the opening in the trees and disappeared into the darkness.

Of course the Prince didn’t care. He wasn’t the one who would have to spend hours polishing and cleaning his shoes to get them back to their pristine quality. He wasn’t the one who would have to deal with the stern talking to from the _Queen_ of the land.

Louis passed through the leaves with a sigh, mind focused deliberately on getting Harry out of the trees and back to safety.

The forest wasn’t exactly new ground to the two of them. Harry fancied himself a rebel (probably to make up for the fact that he couldn’t sword fight for the life of him) and Louis privately thought they were the only two people in the land that had any idea of the interior. It made him feel a little bit smug and a lot sneaky.

“Why are we here?” Louis asked, leaning up against a tree as Harry toyed with a stick from the ground. He flexed his barely-there muscles as though he was debating whether he should try breaking the stick to show off, at the awkward age between curiosity and confidence.

“All of my other friends are stupid and I’m still sore from my lesson yesterday,” Harry explained, body angled away from Louis. He dropped the stick to the ground and wandered further into the woods, hands stuffed into his pockets.

Louis followed. “Which friend are you having trouble with?”

Harry shrugged, the perfect picture of the stubborn 13 year old he was.

“Well if there’s no reason, can we _please_ get out of here?” Louis rolled his eyes.

Harry stood, unmoving, frowning. “If you didn’t have to follow me in here—if you didn’t have to keep track of my every move, then what would you be doing? Be honest.”

Louis was taken aback. Harry normally danced around direct inquiries about Louis’ life, but once he had asked the question he turned to face Louis head on.

“I’m not sure,” Louis blabbered. “I think I’d probably just be helping my mum with the laundry or serving as a castellan. I’m guessing you’re my best bet here.”

Harry’s eyebrows pulled together. “Best bet. That’s comforting.”

Louis could sense the sadness behind his sarcasm. As a Prince, Harry was subject to many privileges: he had an unlimited amount of money, weekly feasts, someone (Louis) to do all of his cleaning, unwavering respect from everyone, and he bathed at least three times as often as everyone else Louis knew.

But Louis had also been Harry’s servant since the Prince was six years old. Louis’d seen the way his parents could only focus half of their attention on Harry at one time. He’d seen the many nights when they were younger that Harry would keep his light on in hopes that his mum would come say goodnight to him before he gave up, blew out his lamp, and tucked himself in. He’d seen the way his “friends” censored themselves around him, unable to consider themselves as equals, no matter how much Harry just wanted an equal—a friend.

It made it difficult to stay cold with Harry, even if it left him feeling trapped at times.

“What’s going on?” Louis pressed gently.

Harry’s lower lip quivered. “How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

“Old enough,” Louis answered. He wasn’t interested in discussing how he’d kissed Hannah at 14, then turned around and _really_ kissed Nick only hours later.

“Is it normal to… not have kissed someone yet? I’m only 13. I don’t think that’s weird, but Jonny told me it was.”

“That’s not weird, Harry,” Louis assured him. “I didn’t kiss anyone until I was 14. And even if you don’t by then, that’s okay, too. There’s not one right or wrong.”

Harry picked at the dirt underneath his nail. “It’s just—never mind, it’s stupid.”

Louis internally sighed.

“It’s not stupid. Tell me.”

Harry took a deep breath and began to peel the bark from the tree beside him. A fairy glared down at him from the leaves above. “It’s just that there have been some girls that wanted to kiss me, but I said no. And Jonny said that was weird of me. Because Cara is really pretty. And because she’s probably one of the girls my parents are going to want me to marry if the arrangement with the Princess from across the sea doesn’t work out.”

This was not a conversation Louis was qualified for or wanted to have. Not at all.

“You don’t have to kiss anyone you don’t want to kiss,” Louis said definitively. “Now can we get back to the castle? It’s going to get cold soon.”

Harry hesitated, mouth half open in a response, but he then gave up.

No sooner had Louis turned to exit, he heard Harry cry out.

“What now?” Louis asked, impatient.

It only took a moment to realize something was very, very wrong. Harry stood with his hands in front of his face, eyes open but not seeing, blank and terrified.

 _“No,”_ Louis groaned, thinking of the punishment he’d be subjected to if the Prince were blinded while under his watch. “Harry, what were you thinking? How many times have we been in here? You can’t have been so _forgetful!”_

Harry began to cry, his unseeing eyes watering, tears spilling over. “I’m sorry!”

“Why would you do this to yourself?” Louis panicked, dragging his hands down his face. “How can we fix this?”

“I ruined everything,” Harry cried, voice edging on hysterical. “I just wanted extra motivation because I knew I’d back out if I had the opportunity. I didn’t—I didn’t think the forest could actually read my mind! I can’t see anything!”

Louis forced himself to remain calm. “Can you tell me what your goal was when you got in here? What you were trying to do?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s too embarrassing. I can’t.”

“I don’t think anything would be worse than having to tell your mum, _the Queen_ , that we snuck into an off-limits forest and forgot that number one rule they teach us about it as kids. I especially don't want to tell her that, as a result, you’ve lost your sight for good! That’s not a story I want to tell!”

Louis felt his frustration boil over, the gravity of the situation weighing on him. _“And_ I’m tired of being the one who does the telling and of having to dig you out of situations because you’re too afraid of confrontation and upsetting someone! I won’t always be here to save you. And I _can’t_ always save you. I don’t know any magic, so unless you’ve suddenly memorized every inch of the castle, you’re going to have to help yourself for once!”

Harry dropped to the floor and curled his arms around his calves, his tears so heavy he made no sound as he buried his face in his knees.

Louis immediately recognized that he made a mistake.

“God, Harry, sorry. I’m so sorry,” Louis shushed him as he sat down beside him. He brought his hand to Harry’s hair, scratching along the crown of his head in the way he knew he secretly liked. “That was harsh. You didn’t deserve that. And I know you’re scared, but we need to fix this.”

Harry wiped below his nose, dirtying his shirtsleeve. “It’s _really_ embarrassing. Not just a little bit embarrassing.”

Louis had an idea of where this was going. He braced himself. “It’s just you and me here. Who am I going to tell?”

Harry shrunk in on himself. “But you’re the person I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Harry took in an uneven breath. “What I wanted was to get my first kiss over with. And there’s obviously nobody here but the two of us, so...”

Louis recognized that he should be flattered. After all, a Prince wanted to have his first kiss with him, but due to the circumstances he was left angry, feeling manipulated, like a prop.

“I wonder if a banana slug would work sufficiently,” Louis quipped.

Harry held himself even tighter. “I can’t see. But if you find me one, I’d try it.”

“No, that would be ridiculous,” Louis sighed. “You can’t mess with the forest, though, Harry. Imagine if you’d been wishing for something more unattainable. You’d never be able to see again.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Kissing is something you can’t force on someone. I know you’re a Prince and you’re used to getting your way, but not everyone wants to kiss you. You’re not entitled to a kiss just because you want one.”

“I know,” Harry whined.

“What if I thought you were gross? What if I had a—a _girlfriend_ —and you didn’t know? And then I’d be forced to kiss you when I had someone else to kiss.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“No, but I still don’t have to kiss you if I don’t want to.”

“I was being thoughtless. I know.”

“Good.”

“You don’t have to kiss me. I really will kiss a banana slug if you give me one.”

“It’s fine,” Louis breathed out. “As long as you promise me all of your kissing will be consensual in the future.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked. Louis was surprised; as a Prince, Harry normally knew twice as many words as Louis.

“It means that both people agree to it. And want to do it together. So you won’t be forcing anyone into anything they don’t want. Nobody’s ever taught you this?”

Harry shook his head. “And I didn’t realize I’d actually be blinded if I chickened out.”

“Well now you know," Louis said. He glanced around at the darkening forest, close to shivering. "We need to get back soon, though, so one kiss and no funny business."

“This is kind of weird because I can’t see you,” Harry attempted humor, but Louis could see the way his lips shook.

Louis angled himself closer. “With a kiss, you just need to be able to feel it.”

“But I don’t really know what I’m doing!” Harry said, his hands rubbing along his thighs to distract himself.

“Have you ever kissed your family?” Louis asked.

“Their cheeks? Yes. Of course.”

Louis stilled Harry's hands. “It’s like doing that, but do it on my lips.”

Harry huffed out. “Okay, put it on me, then. Sorry.”

Louis had no hesitations as he leaned forward and kissed him. Harry’s lips were chapped and dry beneath his, nervous and still as he let himself be kissed.

It wasn’t a particularly steamy kiss, but Louis still felt his heart rate soar as they pressed together. The kiss was chaste and tinged with innocence, the only place they were connected their lips and their fingers atop Harry's thigh.

Harry was the one to break it, his head turning to their left.

“Did you hear that?” Harry asked, his eyes finally blinking into focus.

Louis licked his lip and stood, suddenly feeling very watched and very uneasy. He offered Harry his hand and pulled him up, gesturing for him to lead the way out. The feeling lingered even once they made it past the forest, into the castle, and into their sleeping quarters.

That night, Louis’ neck tingled with the phantom feeling of being watched and his lips tingled with the phantom touch of Harry's mouth against his. It took him hours to fall asleep, too fixated on whether things with the Prince would be weird in the morning, whether they'd both pretend it never happened or talk about it.

And he couldn’t help the smirk that formed when he remembered that the Prince had wanted to kiss him.

Because, in the future, whenever Louis will hear girls whispering throughout the castle about what a dreamy bachelor Harry is and how much they’d like to kiss him, he’ll remember he was Harry’s first kiss.

And he’ll always have that, no matter how big and famous the Prince becomes.


	2. The Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor character death in this chapter :/ it isn't graphic though!

_~_

_The King and Queen had two daughters: Princess Anne and Princess Blaire, and they were the best of friends. Blaire looked up to Anne above everyone else. She admired her kindness, her enthusiasm for life, and the way she could charm an entire room with just a few words. Anne loved her little sister, too, more than anyone, but she had so much love to give for every living creature that Blaire sometimes felt less loved in return. Anne treated everyone the way she treated Blaire, which confused her because she wanted to be Anne’s favorite, like Anne was hers._

_Every afternoon after their lessons, the sisters would journey into the forest together to go on an adventure. Inside, the creatures all loved Anne dearly. She greeted everyone by name and asked how they had been since the last time they spoke. She would brush the unicorns' manes and tell them how beautiful they were, help the elves reach the fruit in the trees they couldn’t reach by themselves, and compliment the fairies on the color of their wings._

_Blaire secretly resented the fairies because Anne’s eyes lit up when they were around in a way they never did around Blaire. When Anne was around a fairy, it was almost as if Blaire didn’t even exist to her. She was always touching their wings and asking how their magic worked. Anne was enchanted by their magic, enthralled by the mystery of it._

_Blaire secretly desired to learn magic to make herself more interesting to her sister. She wanted to be her sister’s favorite, and Anne seemed to value magic and wonder above all else. In the forest, Blaire felt dull, like the pestering younger sister only along for the journey because their parents wouldn’t let Anne go alone._

_~_

 

**The Ball**

 

~

Louis sidesteps a group of servants from the kitchens, cursing the long table swaying dangerously as they weave through the hallway.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going!” Louis yells after them, arms crossed as he takes refuge beside a suit of armor, not intent on being knocked unconscious. The toe of his shoe scuffs at the stone floor as he waits for the pathway to clear, his mood inappropriately morose for such a happy week. After all, it’s not every day there’s a royal wedding.

Princess Gemma and Niall, a well-respected Knight and one of Louis’ favorite people in the whole kingdom, are to be married tomorrow evening in a lavish ceremony, the most highly anticipated event since Gemma’s coming of age. Though the castle is alive with excitement and enthusiastic whispers, everyone desperate to see the normally elusive Princess Gemma for an entire night of festivities, Louis finds that he’s not looking forward to it.

It might have to do with the fact that he’s going to have even more work to do than usual. He’s going to have to make sure Harry’s suit is spotless, that his hair is washed and flipped correctly, that the area behind his ear is scrubbed spotless because Queen Anne somehow _always_ knows when he's gotten lazy with his scrubbing.

The truth is, weddings aren’t glamorous—at least not for Louis. His life isn’t glamorous in general: he’s a grey spot in the background, Harry’s personal servant and an absolute nobody in terms of castle hierarchy. His name and general facial structure is known by most of the castle, sure, but only as the irresponsible tag-along to Prince Harry’s nonsensical adventures.

Louis frowns at a stain on his trousers as he remembers that the week is even worse for his mum. As the castle’s laundress, she’s been working herself into a sickness all week, her fingers permanently pruned and pale. Louis has been helping as much as possible, but living under the rule of a spoiled 18 year old makes it difficult to find any time to himself at all. He makes a mental note to check up on her later.

As it is, he’s supposedly on his way to the tallest tower to find, of all things, a toy Harry hid there as a child. Louis doesn’t understand why he chose today of all days to suddenly need to have it back, but Louis supposes the Prince _has_ been acting oddly lately. Louis had agreed without much goading (after all, the tallest tower is all the way across the castle, so Louis thinks he has an hour or two to kill without suspicion), but it still struck him as an odd request.

Louis watches as the kitchen servants push open the doors to the grand hall and attempt to haul the table inside. The door stubbornly refuses to stay open, so Louis sighs and ambles over to them to hold it open.

And once they’re through, Louis tries to look as unassuming as possible as he follows them into the room.

Louis surveys the group already inside, careful to check that Magee isn’t the day’s decorations supervisor. It’s not that Louis isn’t allowed in, because working directly under the Prince has given him authorization to every room in the castle minus Gemma’s and Anne’s chambers, but he’s already been caught slacking off twice by him this week. He’s not eager to be reported to Queen Anne for something as inconsequential as trying to get a good glimpse of the ballroom, especially when he’s gotten away with much, much worse.

The door slams shut behind him and Stan, a friend from the barbican, spots him.

“Louis! What’re you doing here with the commoners? Don’t you have a teenage Prince to attend to?” he shouts.

Louis shushes him and joins him in the corner. He sweeps his eyes over the gold and red draped along the walls, the tall pillars and the extravagant staircase that Princess Gemma will be crowned at tomorrow night.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Louis tells Stan, ignoring the question.

“Didn’t do much,” Stan admits. “We were just here for the extra man power. Don’t think the Queen fears an ambush as much as she does an imperfect reception.”

“That must be where Harry gets his absent-mindedness,” Louis quips without thinking, then immediately backtracks. “I mean, long live the Queen, but I’d think she’d want you on alert so close to such a huge event.”

“Would _you_ ever want to cross her?” Stan asks.

Louis thinks it over for a moment, remembers how loudly she had yelled when he’d admitted he lost Harry in a crowd during the annual harvest festival at sixteen, and cringes. “No. Never.”

Stan laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “Think that’s the general consensus.”

And, well, Louis can’t argue with that.

He wanders around a bit more, fingers trailing over the golden tablecloth and eyes scanning the intricate tapestries, enthralled by the needless splendor of royalty. If it were anyone but Niall getting married, Louis would scoff and write the entire affair off as a waste of time, but Louis loves Niall. He deserves the best, since he is the best.

Speaking of, Niall pushes loudly through the doors at the top of the staircase, everyone’s attention snapping to him at once, smiles all around. Louis will never understand Niall’s ability to make a room light up without any effort. He’s an oddity; nobody knows how he managed to woo a reclusive Princess, but Louis thinks that it all makes sense when Niall opens his mouth.

“Good day, everyone! It’s looking lovely in here! A proper ballroom for the wedding of the century! Great job!” he yells to the room at large.

Paul, the highest-ranking Knight in the kingdom, indulges Niall’s sunny attitude. “Have you just been up to see your Princess, then?”

Niall nods and wiggles his eyebrows as he descends the stairs. “I did! She looks even _more_ gorgeous than usual, somehow. There was a sparkle in her eyes that I swear I’ve never even seen. Kicked me out quickly, though.”

Paul presses on. “Oh? Too close to the wedding to be together, then?”

“No way! I was shunned by her little brother. He was in her chamber and he’d just come back from a riding lesson, I believe. Leaves in his hair, mud on his shoes. He seemed upset. I let them be.”

Louis wishes it didn’t, but at the mention of Prince Harry _,_ he's on alert.

It’s only natural. Harry is his responsibility, his boss. If Harry’s upset, he’s going to have to bear the blunt of it when he sees him next. And it’s not that Harry is unmanageable when he’s upset, but there’s already enough for Louis to worry about in the next 24 hours that it's a daunting thought.

Louis groans and steals a cube of cheese from an open platter before getting back to work. He hurries out of the ballroom and scurries across the castle, making his way to the tallest tower now that he knows Harry’s back from his… lesson?

But Harry didn’t have a riding lesson planned for today. Louis knows his schedule better than his own. His next lesson wasn't supposed to be for another week, once Princess Gemma and Niall returned from their holiday at the sea.

No matter. Louis shakes the confusion and hurries on. It doesn’t actually matter to him what Prince Harry does during his alone time, as long as he stays safe and Louis gets paid.

Twenty minutes later, Louis finally reaches the base of the tallest tower. It’s placed just inside the moat, separated from the main section of the castle, the ancient stone crumbling in the weaker areas. Louis has heard rumors that this tower was where the archers used to hide out to get a good look at their approaching enemies. He’s also heard it to be haunted, which Louis tries very hard to avoid thinking about as he stretches his calves, preparing for the long walk up the staircase.

Slightly out of breath once he arrives at the top, it takes Louis a few tries to find his correct key to unlock the door. After trying a particularly small, brass one, the heavy door squeaks open. Louis pulls his coat closer across his stomach, the temperature dropping instantly as he steps inside, his breath misty.

It’s silent in the room, the laughter of the ballroom forgotten, replaced with palpable solitude and confinement. Louis feels a deep chill run up his spine, uncomfortable in the sparsely decorated, abandoned room. There’s a child’s bed pushed into the corner, beside a desolate dresser with one drawer half pulled out. Cobwebs line the ceiling, Louis spots deep grooves in the wall that look to be _fingernail scratches,_ and there seems to be a film of dust covering every surface, as though the room hasn’t been entered in years.

The room used to belong to Princess Gemma.

Something feels very wrong.

Louis knows very little about her, only what tiny pieces of information Harry will give out and what he’s gathered from the few brief encounters he’s had with her, but he can’t imagine what it would be like to live in this room as a small child. He can’t imagine having a room so far away from the rest of the castle, so far away from another living being, and being happy about it.

True, his room is attached to a needy Prince’s, but he’s never lonely.

This room feels like seclusion, like isolation and silence. Like quarantine. It leaves Louis feeling uneasy, hairs on his neck standing straight up as he stands in what feels like a dark void, the only sound that of his breathing.

He begins to scour the room quickly, desperate to find the toy and leave as soon as possible. He hums to break the silence as he drops down to search beneath the bed, wincing at the cold stone beneath his knees. Once that search proves to be unsuccessful, he tears through all of the empty drawers. He even checks the windowsill, but it becomes apparent to him that the toy isn’t here. He remembers exactly how it looks—a toy train he and Harry would often bring into the woods when they would go there to play, Louis’ personal favorite at the time—but it isn’t here.

It’s with a relieved, pitying ache in his heart that he finally leaves the miserable room and descends the stairs, for once happy to be returning to the main castle.

Almost as quickly as he returns, he runs into Paul.

“Louis,” he tells him, his voice gruff. “The Prince has been requesting you. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been exactly where Harry asked me to be,” Louis says, standing up straight, empty-handed but still proud.

“Well, _now_ he wants you in his chambers.”

Louis nods and finally looks to the floor, knowing his place. He’s always been able to get away with trouble when Harry’s been by his side. But alone, he’s powerless.

~

When Louis enters Harry’s chamber, he’s immediately surrounded by the scent of the forest. It’s a familiar mixture of grass, mud, fairy dust, and the remnants of deep magic. Louis knows it well from their years of transgression.

“Where’ve you been?” Louis needlessly asks the Prince.

Harry pauses in his pacing of the room, his knuckles white, his face wiped clean of emotion. “Away.”

“I know where you’ve been, you know,” Louis points out as he approaches him, careful, unable to read his mood. “Smelled the fairy dust from all the way at the door.”

Harry looks down as Louis pulls a stray leaf from his hair. When he speaks, it’s short. “I was in the forest, yeah.”

“Anything exciting happen there? How’s your vision?” Louis asks, attempting to lift the mood.

Harry blushes and wears a self-mortified half smile, as he always does when Louis teases him over that night. “Perfect. I can see fine.”

“Good,” Louis claps his hands together, all business now that he’s made Harry grin. “Would you like me to draw you a bath, then? You’re awfully dirty. You wouldn’t want to attend your sister’s wedding looking like a gargoyle.”

Harry bites his lip, eyes cautious. “Yeah, I guess that would be best. Yeah. Thanks.”

Louis eyes him suspiciously. Harry is polite, of course, but he’s normally much less short with him. Though Louis is officially more of his servant than a friend, Harry seems to think they’re close. It’s nice when they’re out on their horses for hours at a time, much better than the hours of silence Eleanor says she has to endure when with Gemma at times, but Louis sometimes thinks it’s unfair that Harry thinks of Louis as a friend because he’s paid to pay attention to him.

Although Louis truly does care about the Prince deep down… somewhere deep, deep down, beneath the protocol and early mornings and dreaded Sundays full of polishing and washing. Harry is _good_ above everything, respectful, not as demanding as he could be, and easygoing when Louis stays out too late and serves Harry breakfast while hung over.

He’s seen Harry during his worst times, when King Des (along with Louis’ own step-dad) left on a quest and never returned, when the Scandal that left Queen Anne answering to a raging, angry kingdom occurred, when he’d been made fun of for his terrible sword fighting skills by all of the other Knights and wasn’t allowed to join the cavalry, and even when he first had his heart broken in secret. Louis has seen the tears and Harry’s ugly crying face, his secret vulnerabilities that the average non-royal is unable to see, so there’s a certain tenderness for the Prince in his heart. He can’t find it in him to only care about him strictly in a professional sense.

“Everything alright with you?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry rubs at his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He looks out of place in his extravagant room, mud smeared across his skin and a loose tear in his shirtsleeve.

“That doesn’t sound fine to me,” Louis continues, urging him to open up.

Harry wrings his hands together and crosses the room to sit at the cushioned bench at the end of his bed. He brings his ankle to his knee and begins to rub at it.

“Is it your ankle?” Louis asks, striding towards Harry with his palm out, prepared to check it. Harry immediately shakes his head and brings his foot back to the floor.

“My ankle is fine,” he says, his voice firm.

Louis jerks his hand back. “You’re scaring me, Harry. What’s gotten you so worried? What’s wrong?”

Harry bites his lip and covers his face with his hands, elbows to his knees.

“How do you think the wedding will go tomorrow?” Harry finally whispers, his voice muffled.

Louis breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. Reassurance, he can do. Louis has four younger sisters. “It’ll be perfect, H. I was just in the ballroom before going up to the tallest tower. Niall’s in high spirits, the food was phenomenal—but, erm, don’t tell your mum I said that—and the room is magnificent. Fit for a Queen.”

Harry doesn’t seem placated.

“What about the kingdom? How do _they_ feel about Gemma? Are they excited to see her?” Harry pauses, looking up to meet Louis’ eyes. “I saw her dress. It’s so beautiful. I just want her to have the best day. I really, really want that.”

“She will,” Louis tells him. He sits, joining Harry at the bench. “It’s going to be perfect. Everyone loves Gemma. They wish they’d seen her more in the past, so now that there’s going to be a wedding, they’re even more excited.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks. A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “So it’s going to be okay? Nobody will say anything mean about her?”

“What?” Louis almost scoffs. “No! She’s going to be our Queen. We’d be terrible for that. And nobody wants to lose their head.”

“What are you talking about? There’s freedom of speech here, Louis,” Harry’s expression hardens. “My mum would never behead someone because they voiced an _opinion_. Neither will Gemma, once she becomes Queen.”

“I know, Harry,” Louis soothes him, a gentle, comforting hand pressed to Harry’s forearm. “It was supposed to be a joke. A bad one, but a joke.”

“Oh,” Harry says, but doesn't elaborate.

“What happened in the forest, then?” Louis prods. “You can tell me.”

“I can’t,” Harry says, expression miserable. “I really can’t. But I’m okay. Or I will be soon. _Tomorrow._ Once the wedding’s over and Gemma and Niall are happy.”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow, but he decides not to press further. Harry doesn’t lie to him, knowing all too well Louis’ ability to pick out his lies from a mile away. It’s a skill he learned when Harry just began to tell untruths—but even the Queen hasn’t yet caught on to the fact that Harry can never keep his nose still when he lies.

So if Harry says he’ll be fine with a perfectly still nose, Louis chooses to believe him. “Okay... A bath, then? That could take your mind off of your worries?”

Harry nods and shrugs off his coat. “Yes. Please.”

Louis cracks his knuckles and stands, back to work.

The process of drawing Harry a bath is straightforward, but it’s time-consuming and can leave Louis’ arms sore for days. He travels down to the kitchens and says the dreaded words “the Prince requests a bath,” then jogs away, dodging all of the stray tomatoes being thrown his way.

From there, it’s a pulley system straight from the kitchens to Harry’s private tub. It isn’t until the water-level reaches halfway that Louis remembers exactly why he’d gone up to the tallest tower.

“Harry?” Louis asks. The Prince looks up from a book at his desk, mud still smeared across his forehead. “Sorry, but I couldn’t find the train. In the tallest tower.”

“The train?” Harry asks.

“Yeah... The train you asked me to find for you. While you were away.”

“Oh,” Harry looks back down to his book. “That’s alright. I think I actually placed it elsewhere.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the colossal waste of his time as he brings another pot up using the pulley. “Good to know now.”

“Sorry,” Harry says. “You always liked it better, anyway. It should be yours.”

Louis shakes his head as he lifts the pot. “What use would I have for a toy train now? You should give it to Princess Gemma and Niall’s children when they have them. They’d have more use for them.”

“Maybe your sisters would like it?” Harry suggests.

“We don’t even know where this train is!” Louis hisses as a drop of boiling water splashes up, hitting his forearm. “Who cares?”

“We used to have a lot of fun with it,” Harry shrugs. “I just thought—never mind.”

They don’t speak again until the tub is full, the hot water bearable when Louis uses his fingers to check the temperature.

“It’s ready, Your Highness,” Louis says.

Harry pulls the same face he does when Louis calls him Prince. “Harry. _Harry._ Never that. _”_

Harry walks to the tub and fiddles with the ropes of his robe. Louis holds his hands out to take it from him, but Harry just rubs his socked feet together, staring straight ahead.

“I think I can take it from here. You can go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Louis’ mouth drops. He’s been scrubbing Harry’s skin raw since he was eight.

“Since when have you gotten shy?” Louis asks. The last time Harry had been hesitant to strip before him was when he was barely a teenager, unsure whether the appearance of pubic hair meant he was somehow turning into a horse.

“You just deserve a break,” Harry shrugs. “You work hard. And tomorrow will be stressful. I can wash behind my ears. I promise I’ll do it well so my mum doesn’t get upset with us.”

Louis shrugs and accepts his fate, not one to volunteer to work when he’s let off early, even _if_ the Prince is acting stranger than he has in a while. He sometimes gets moody and distant, but never after going into the forest, somewhere he’s been with Louis many times. It’s normally after a meeting with his mum, or sometimes after going up to Gemma’s chambers.

“Alright, whatever works,” Louis backs away. “Have a good night, Harry. Sleep well. Would you like strawberries or blueberries with your breakfast?”

“Strawberries, please,” Harry answers. “Sleep well, too.”

“Thanks,” Louis says. He exits the washing room and hurries into his chamber. His door is hidden behind a changing tapestry, no lock. Harry knows not to disturb him once he’s been dismissed, though.

Louis falls asleep fitfully that night. He tries to pretend it’s because he’s nervous for the wedding, but it’s much more about the lost look on Harry’s face.

~

The next morning leaves Louis’ head in a rush. He's forced to run throughout the halls, to hurry Harry’s suit all the way down to his mum’s cottage because the castle’s tailor is too busy with last minute adjustments to Gemma’s gown. He attempts to have a quick breakfast with his sisters as his mum sews, and then he’s right back at Harry’s chambers, the clock ticking. Louis shines Harry’s shoes twice, gets rid of his unibrow, and hand plucks the fuzzes from his suit so it’s entirely spotless.

Harry’s face is blank, less nervous than the prior night. He taps out a tune on his thigh as Louis attempts to straighten out his tie.

“None of that tapping, Harry. I don’t want your trousers to wrinkle before the wedding even begins.”

Harry’s fingers pause and he apologizes. “Sorry. Just nervous.”

“No need to be nervous,” Louis smiles in encouragement. He loops the fabric for the final time and presses the tie flat against Harry’s chest with a quick pat. “It’ll be a night of dancing and music. Of good food. Of beautiful dresses.”

“I do like pretty dresses,” Harry acknowledges. “Just not always the people inside them.”

Louis gives him a sympathetic nose scrunch. Harry’s preferences are a well-kept secret, what with being _the Prince_ and all. Queen Anne doesn’t even know how Harry cried for a week straight when he was 16, his naïve heart broken by a boy he met on their journey across the sea to negotiate the trade prices of a rare metal. There haven’t been many men after, but Louis is always asked to stand guard when Harry takes someone back to his room. He’s never been caught, but Louis still can’t help the strike of anxiety he feels as he stands watch outside the door, wincing every time he hears an audible sound.

“Do you think the Queen will expect you to have Cara on your arm tonight?” Louis asks. She’d been non-subtly hinting at the arrangement for two years, now.

“Probably,” Harry sighs. “At least she’s lovely. And a good dancer! That will be fun.”

Louis steps back and gives Harry an appraising glance. “You’re looking handsome, Prince. I’m sure you and Cara will have a lovely time tonight.”

The smile Harry gives him only looks a little bit forced.

~

The ceremony is gorgeous, of course. The ballroom fills up to the very back in minutes. Louis doesn’t even get a seat, instead stands in the back with his little sister, Lottie, the only one old enough to attend. Harry gave him the night off once he’d been deemed presentable, telling Louis to have fun but not “too much fun,” with an indecipherable glare that Louis didn’t care to try to understand.

“I heard Princess Gemma’s dress is pure gold,” Lottie gossips to him as Lux, the flower girl, makes her way down the aisle. White petals drop to the floor beside her, the audience cooing over how cute she is as she passes.

Louis rolls his eyes and hides his smirk. It’s no secret that Lottie is jealous of his position, an admirer of the crown and resentful of the fact that she’s been tragically forced into getting an education. Louis probably could get her a job in the castle if he tried, but he doesn’t give his mum three quarters of his wages for his sisters to be forced into _working_ before they need to _._

“I’ve heard it isn’t,” Louis says.

“Have you seen it then?” Lottie asks, the insistent gleam in her eyes unmistakable. She looks older like this, older than the barely-there teenager she is, coal lining her eyes and wearing her best dress. Louis’ heart sinks a bit as he takes a good look at her, feeling guilty for being unable to place exactly when she began to grow up.

“Of course I haven’t. You know I don’t see Princess Gemma often. And even if I did, I’m not someone she’d model her wedding dress to.”

“Bummer. How's the Prince?” Lottie presses on.

“Just as spoiled as ever. Taller than me, now, too. Which is upsetting,” Louis admits to her.

“He’s gotten… very handsome,” Lottie blushes, on her tiptoes as she tries to get a good glimpse at Harry. He follows Lottie’s gaze, to where the Prince is standing tall at the bottom of the grand staircase, face glowing with laughter as he clutches at Niall's shoulder .

Louis reluctantly has to agree with her. Harry’s grown into his features, his jaw line sharp and pronounced and his quirky ears hidden beneath the full head of hair he’s grown. His riding and fighting lessons have given him thick muscles, filling his suit very, very nicely. Not that Louis has really been looking, though.

A sudden hush falls over the room, and Louis sees it in Harry’s eyes the moment the doors push open to reveal his sister. His mouth falls slack and his eyes light up before tears threaten to spill over. Beside him, Niall quickly deteriorates into just as much of a mess, his hands covering his mouth as Princess Gemma smiles up at him from the center of the doorway.

Their gaze never wavers, even as the entire crowd marvels at how beautiful the Princess looks. A loud, excited murmuring takes over the room as she makes her way down the aisle, led by King Robin and Queen Anne at both of her sides.

Lottie grasps at Louis’ arm, her eyes bugging out of her head. “She’s so gorgeous!”

Louis pries her fingers from his skin, wincing. “Of course she is! She’s going to be Queen!”

“But… her dress. It’s so pretty,” Lottie sighs, her hand over her heart.

The white fabric is spotless, the lace along her back accentuating her figure in a way that shows the dress was hand-tailored to her shape. The cut is modest, as Louis expected, and the train drags a few meters behind her, held up by two of her servants. Louis makes eye-contact with Eleanor and waves, giving her a thumbs up as she sends him an  _I can't believe this_ look.

When they all make it to the front of the room, Queen Anne kisses Princess Gemma’s hand, then places it in Niall’s, giving him a false dirty look as he takes it. Louis laughs quietly to himself; though the Queen is often serious and blunt, it isn’t common knowledge that she also has a playful side.

Niall cries all throughout the vows, and once Niall and Gemma have said “I do” and kissed the marriage into its beginning, the audience booms out in equally tearful cheers. Princess Gemma’s smile is blinding, perfect composure next to Niall’s blubbering, red face.

The party begins soon after, a seemingly unlimited supply of food and drink lying out along the tables. Once the royals and Knights have made their plates, Louis pulls Lottie into line beside him.

“Should we bring some back for mum?” Lottie asks, biting her lip as she takes in the endless selection before her. “It’s sad enough that she’s at home working and watching the others while she misses the ceremony. She deserves a feast, too.”

“Of course,” Louis easily agrees. “Not until later, though. I’m friends with people from the kitchens and they’ll give me leftovers. We don’t want to look greedy in front of the Queen, Lots.”

Once they’ve loaded their plates with more potatoes, beef, and cheeses than vegetables, Louis pauses in the middle of the floor to glance around the room, searching for a place to sit. He spots Stan at a table half hidden in a dark corner, and pulls Lottie along.

“Nice ceremony, yeah?” Louis asks as he approaches the table. Stan grins up at him, but Eleanor is too engrossed in her food to look up.

Louis pulls a chair out for Lottie, and then asks Eleanor, “Princess Gemma gave you the night off, too?”

“Yes,” She grins, her fork now raised in midair. “She said if she was having a night as amazing as tonight, I deserved to have fun, too.” She takes a bite and closes her eyes in bliss. “She’ll be a fair ruler.”

Louis nods as he sits, pulling a cloth napkin into his lap. “Good family. The royals.”

Prince Harry strolls by at that exact moment, his head held high, poised and confident. Lottie looks to be a moment away from a heart attack when he lays a hand at the top of her chair, sending a smile to the entire table. “Hello. Everyone having a good time tonight?”

Louis stays quiet as the table all hastens to answer in the affirmative. Louis admires Harry’s dignity, relieved that Harry’s now working the room like a professional, over his brief spat of nervousness the night before.

“How is the Princess, Prince Harry?” Eleanor requests politely. “Has her tiara stayed in correctly? I had such a difficult time securing it earlier.”

“Very happy at the moment,” Harry confirms. “I don’t think there were any malfunctions. You did wonderfully. She looks beautiful.”

Eleanor stammers through her _thank you_ and _wasn’t just me_ as the Queen approaches their table. Lottie’s breath halts as she stares up at her.

“Hello,” the Queen nods at them all, then immediately turns to her son. “Harry, a word please?”

Louis sees a flash of fear strike though Harry’s features. He nods and murmurs his goodbye, squeezing Lottie’s shoulder as he turns.

“Oh my God... He _touched_ me…”

Louis ignores her immediate breakdown and tracks Harry’s exit path. Queen Anne leads him across the ballroom, stopping every so often for Harry to shake hands or press a kiss to a lucky woman’s knuckles. Louis feels his smile shrink to a grimace. The entire charade makes Louis feel—not exactly bad—but almost glum. Harry has the entire world at his feet, but no opportunity to do what he truly wants. And with his sister the heir to the throne and no true talent or interest in sword fighting, Louis isn’t sure what Harry will be able to do with his future. Surely he can’t just stand as a trophy Prince for the kingdom to admire—he’d find no meaning in that.

It’s odd, Louis thinks. That Harry stands so close to the precipice of power, but will probably never actually heed any of the responsibility that comes with it. And—Louis grimaces as he watches Anne pass Harry off to converse with Cara—he’ll undoubtedly be forced into a loveless marriage.

He’s unsure how he’ll find happiness.

Low on leisure time, Harry doesn’t have the capability of cultivating many hobbies. He does his reading every night, goes to his riding lessons and fight training, attends all of the royal functions, and attempts to socialize with his few friends, but that doesn’t leave him much spare time to explore other interests.

Surprisingly, when Harry does have time for his own activities, he’s proven to be quite an avid gardener; he finds pleasure in the first hints of green and enjoys tending to the peas and carrots, but Louis doesn’t think _Prince Harry, Lord of the Sprouts_ would be a fitting or acceptable title to the Queen.

Louis sighs and tears his eyes away from Harry’s form, attempting to rejoin the conversation and eating a spoonful of green beans to distract himself.

The oil lights eventually dim, setting the stage for the night of dancing. Niall and Gemma take the first dance, both spinning to a lighthearted song on the violin. Gemma’s tiara stays in place, much to Eleanor’s delight, enduring the endless and enthusiastic twirls Niall subjects her to. And once the last note rings out and everyone claps, the floor finally opens to the rest of the room.

Louis wastes no time in joining the party. He grabs Lottie’s hand and leads her to the edge of the dance floor, avoiding the path of the proper dancing centered beneath the chandelier. He spins her faster than the song calls for, ignoring her calls of _I’m getting dizzy_ based on how much she's laughing. And once they’re out of breath, he holds her close, swaying slowly so he can savor his night with her. It’s been months since he’s even been able to stay overnight at his mum’s cottage.

“Missed you,” he whispers into her hair, his eyes squeezing shut. Her head doesn’t reach much past his shoulder, but she seems to understand his sentiment, swaying with him to the tempo.

“We miss you, too. Mum especially. I try to help her as much as I can, but it never feels like enough,” Lottie admits. Her voice is soft, as though she’s trying to keep their conversation secluded on the edge of the dance floor forever.

“You’re doing your best. She appreciates you more than you know,” Louis tells her, fingers tightening across her back. “But I still wish I was home more to help her out. I really, really do.”

“But you’re here in the castle, instead. Helping the Prince,” she says, her voice coming out sad and a bit strained. “It’s weird that my own brother probably knows _him_ better than he knows me.”

“Hey,” Louis slows down and holds her at arm length. “That’s not true. I know you plenty.”

She gulps, looking away from him. “Sometimes I feel like you’re just as untouchable as Prince Harry. To me.”

Louis’ heart breaks in half. “Lots, you know you can tell me anything, _ask_ me for anything. Whenever I’m home. Even when I’m not home. There are ways to sneak into the castle. I’ll teach you.”

“It’s weird, though. You miss so much that I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” she admits.

“Well…” Louis trails off. “There’s no better place to begin than the present. And I'm already caught up, anyway. Mum and I gossip about you when I help her with the wash.”

Lottie slaps at his shoulder but smiles, allowing them to fall back into step.

“So,” Louis continues, sending her for a sudden dip over his knee. Lottie squeaks out, clinging tight to his shoulder. “None of that sadness. Today, especially. The Princess was just married! We need to celebrate!”

As they finish their dance, Louis weighs the pros and cons of letting his 13-year-old sister have her first drink. He feels like he needs to do something to show her how accessible he is, that he’s her _brother,_ and not some random stranger that comes to visit for Sunday tea every so often.

In the end, he goes against his better instincts and decides that _one_ ale can’t do much harm. After all, it’s better for her to try it around family, rather than schoolmates he doesn’t know or trust to be around her while she's impaired.

He pulls her across the room as a new song begins, watching as Harry twirls Cara across the floor as they go. They make a gorgeous couple, Louis has to admit. Their dancing is flawless, practiced and fluid rather than stiff. Harry marrying Cara wouldn’t actually be the end of the world. They seem to get along well.

But Harry wouldn’t be happy. Louis knows that for sure.

And then they come face to face with Stan again at the cider table.

“Didn’t know you could move like that,” Stan says as he throws his head back, finishing his cup.

“My talent exceeds that of running around the castle to tend the Prince’s every whim,” Louis says as he pours half a pint for Lottie. She takes the drink with shaking hands, her cheeks pink as she glances out of the corner of her eye, surveying who could be watching.

“True. Do you fancy sneaking out to the grounds for a…” Stan trails off, facing away from Lottie and making a _smoking herbs_ gesture. Louis regretfully shakes his head, subtly gesturing to Lottie.

“Big brother duties tonight. Sorry—”

The loud roar of an animal stops him short.

“What in the world was that?” Lottie chokes out from beside him, sending ale dripping down her chin.

Louis feels a sudden uneasiness grow in his chest. The rest of the room mirrors his sentiment, the dancing stopped short and all heads turned to Queen Anne or the open window. “I don’t know."

He grabs at Lottie’s wrist as the rest of the ballroom falls under a heavy blanket of silence.

“What’s going on?” Lottie whispers.

The silence is broken by another loud roar. And then the doors to the ballroom fly open.

A scream rings out as a huge, green dragon appears outside the stained glass window. Somewhat less alarming is the arrival of a woman in dark robes, standing exactly where Gemma did only hours ago.

Confused murmurs begin as the strange woman walks into the room with confidence, unfazed by the arrival of an actual dragon. She strolls past the shaking wedding guests, eyes rolling over them as though they mean nothing to her.

“No welcome home?” the woman finally directs the Queen’s way. The commoners scurry away from the scene, flocking to the walls and behind tables, leaving Queen Anne and King Robin standing alone in the center of the dance floor.

“You’re not welcome here,” the Queen says imperiously, head held high. "And you know it."

“I really don’t like this,” Lottie says. She steps behind Louis, peeking from behind his arm at the scene unfolding, her hands fisted into his shirt.

“Not welcome, you say?” the strange woman laughs. “I grew up here just the same as you.”

“Stay quiet,” Louis whispers to Lottie. He slowly pulls them closer to the shadows, careful not to draw attention to the two of them.

“You most certainly didn’t grow up just the same as me,” Queen Anne insists to the woman.

“Anne. Ignoring it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” she counters.

“Leave us be!” the Queen finally yells, her voice loud and powerful. “It’s Gemma’s wedding day!”

“I know. No invite for her _Aunt Blaire?”_ the woman asks. “Terribly rude. Poor manners. We learned better.”

Louis feels the air in his lungs escape at once. He pulls Lottie close into his side, angling her face away so she doesn’t have to look. A few of the older guests recoil away further in fear. The betrayal of Blaire is folklore, a story the older generation vehemently refuses to discuss, but the stories all have the same ending message: Blaire is a witch.

“Tell me,” the witch continues, surveying the villagers cowering against the walls. “Who’s the lucky man? Who found it in himself to fall in love with a girl who—”

“Me! I’m the luckiest man in the world!” Niall yells to her. He steps into the center of the floor, gaze unwavering on Blaire as Gemma stands to the side with tears in her eyes, one hand covering her mouth.

Blaire’s lip twitches as she stares him up and down, one eyebrow raised. “Oh. You’ll do. You’ll definitely do.”

“Please leave,” Niall says to her. “I don’t want to ask you again.”

“I don’t want you to, either,” Blaire says. She raises her hand and makes a quick movement, then sends a beam of light straight to Niall. “It’s rude to ask your _family_ to leave. And we’re family now.”

Niall immediately hunches over, the townspeople’s screams making it so Louis can’t hear what he says in response. But then, once the hush has returned, Louis realizes Niall can’t speak at all. His mouth is moving with no sound coming out, his hand to his throat as if he can’t believe it.

“I seem to remember our parents telling us ‘the prettiest Princesses needn’t speak unless necessary.’ I think this is still relevant,” Blaire’s voice booms.

“What’d she do to Niall?” Lottie whispers into Louis’ chest. His shirt is wet with tears.

Louis hugs her closer, chin resting at the crown of her head, not wanting to worry her. “He’s fine. Just speechless at the moment.”

“Fix this!” Queen Anne shrieks. “Blaire, fix this or so help me. I will find a way to destroy you.”

“Oooh,” Blaire smiles, but it doesn’t strike Louis as anything but terrifying, her face twisted and cruel. “Looks like Mrs. Nice Way or No Way’s changed her ways. I’ll fix his vocals tomorrow.”

“You’ll fix it now—”

“In _Over,”_ Blaire declares.

“You won’t.” Queen Anne’s voice is dangerously low.

“Why else do you think I’d crash this beautiful wedding? I’ve grown lonely. Being banished by your sister really takes an awful, awful toll on you,” Blaire says.

“You know it wasn’t like that,” Queen Anne says, looking pained. Her gaze flickers over to Gemma, where Harry is attempting to hold her back as best he can beneath the grand staircase.

“I’m taking this nice young man as my own King. If he’s good enough for your daughter, then I’m sure he’s more than good enough for me,” Blaire says with glee.

“He’d never agree to it!” Gemma finally yells.

“Oh, darling,” the witch switches her attention to Gemma, her lip jutted out in mocking humor. “There’s nothing a simple hex can’t fix. It’s not like love isn’t manufactured, anyway.”

“You’re an evil witch!” Gemma screams out at her, elbow jabbing into Harry’s side. “Haven’t you already ruined my life enough? Let me have this one night!”

“None of your terrible experiences are things I haven’t felt, too, my dear. I think we could be good friends.”

“Why would you do this to me?” Gemma asks, quieter. “What’ve I ever done to you?”

Louis is… confused. He’s terrified and feels vaguely like throwing up, yes, but above all, he is confused.

“You know what?” Blaire finally asks the room at large, ignoring her question. “I think I’m going to take both my lovely trophy husband and your mouthy Princess Gemma back _Over_ with me. I’ll keep Gemma isolated in my tallest tower. Like Aunt, like niece, right? Nothing new.”

“No!” Queen Anne yells, arms coming out to her sides as though she can protect everyone with that one simple gesture. “You’re going to fix Niall’s voice, leave, and never come back.”

“Gladly,” the witch says. She snaps her fingers. Immediately, both Niall and Gemma’s heads fall forward as though they’re asleep. Another sweep of her arm sends them both floating her way.

In a quick movement, Paul brandishes his sword and steps towards the witch. His eyes are focused and determined in a way Louis has only seen once—when the castle was under sudden attack and he took out ten swordsmen in just under a minute. Louis shuts his eyes and cradles the back of Lottie’s head, face screwing up in preparation for the blood-curdling scream.

But it never comes. When Louis opens his eyes, Paul is a crumpled heap on the floor, unmoving. The room has been stunned into silence.

“Anyone else?” Blaire asks, her fingers twitching as she surveys the room. Niall and Gemma’s equally lifeless forms float by her side.

Harry runs at her with no sword, no protection, tear tracks shining on his cheeks. “Let them go!”

Louis’ heart flatlines immediately. A quick, aborted _stop_ rips from his mouth and his fingers dig deeper into Lottie’s scalp, but the Queen saves Louis from doing something even more drastic.

She grabs Harry’s wrist, and then wraps an arm around his waist, stopping him from attacking the witch.

“I can’t lose two children tonight!” she grips him harder, keeping him close to her. “We’ll find a way to get them back. I promise you, Harry.”

“You need to stop making promises you can’t keep,” Blaire says, her eyes cold, looking angry for the first time that night.

With that, she waves her arms and sweeps her way out of the room, Niall and Gemma floating and following. The doors slam shut behind her.

The only sound that follows is that of the dragon, flying away.

 


	3. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't normally do this with fics, but this is a [mix](http://8tracks.com/lsmyang/unhappily-ever-after) that I found exciting to listen to while writing :)

_~_

_Whereas Anne seemed to belong in the forest, Blaire didn’t mesh well inside of it. She followed Anne along because she really did love to spend time with her, but the forest was inhabited by creatures she was envious of. She also found it to be too vast and endless, filled with things she didn’t understand or found to be scary. And because of her jealousy and fear, she found it difficult to interact with anyone but Anne, her safety net, while in the forest._

_Anne noticed and eventually urged Blaire to at least attempt to make friends, either in the forest or out, but Anne’s concern only sounded like a sugarcoated request for Blaire to leave her be with her chosen friends._

_It hurt her deeply, but Blaire took it as a challenge rather than a request to leave Anne alone. She continued going on adventures with her sister, pushing past the discomfort and the jealousy because she loved Anne more than anyone._

_~_

 

**The Beginning**

 

 ~

 

Pandemonium.

Once the wind from the dragon’s wings settles, it’s absolute pandemonium. The evening turns abruptly from light and jubilant to frightening and panic-stricken, the dim of the lamps menacing rather than romantic.

The younger wedding guests alternate between crying and screaming, turning to their parents in search of comfort and familiarity. A few of the older guests have taken to sitting down, hands clenched to their chests as though they’re having difficult breathing. Some people have even broken castle etiquette and run up the grand staircase in order to escape the scene. Everyone is yelling, confused and upset, trying to find some semblance of balance and control, a reason.

“Stop! Everyone calm down!” the Queen’s voice booms throughout the great hall, silencing the masses. Her last sound echoes, the high ceilings containing her words like a kingdom-wide secret. “Everything is going to be fine! But we need to discuss what we’re going to do.”

With that, she makes eye contact with two guards beside the open doors and gestures to close them. They quickly obey, clicking the lock into place.

“Good,” the Queen says with a stony face, finally allowing Harry to escape her hold. He straightens his dress shirt out as soon as he’s free, eyes murderous as he distances himself from her. “We need to talk about this.”

“About what?” Harry yells to her. Louis squeezes his eyes shut, willing Harry to stop making a scene. But he knows it’s fruitless, both having battled over the complete inability to hold their tongues as children when in heated discussion. On the average day, Harry knows his hierarchy in the kingdom, but he’s never been able to keep calm while upset. “About how you just let your witch of a sister hex and kidnap your own child and her husband? On their wedding night? Because I’d _love_ to talk about that!”

“Harry,” the Queen attempts to placate him, voice measured and calm. “They’re not dead. And you don’t know what she’s capable of. We need to be careful with this.”

“You think I don’t know what she’s capable of?” Harry spits back. His feet are wide and planted, the red in his face visible from halfway across the room. “I think I’m the only one in this entire room other than you and Robin who knows _exactly_ what she can do! Don’t try to blame this on my inadequate knowledge. Save that for someone who hasn’t been forced to deal with all your dirty secrets for their whole life.”

The Queen breathes in deep through her nose in response, her nostrils flaring as she turns away from him. The room seems to drop in temperature. “I’ll deal with you later."

Harry, to his credit, doesn’t flinch at her tone. He stands his ground, arms crossed over his chest in defiance.

“Does the Prince always talk to the Queen like that?” Lottie asks Louis with wide eyes.

 _“Never,”_ Louis tells her, his throat dry as he sees the wetness settling low at Harry’s lash line. Harry’s attack was simply an over-the-top defense mechanism, a way to channel his anger and confusion into something that felt constructive. “He loves his mum. He respects her too much to talk back like this normally, especially in front of the entire kingdom.”

“Alberto,” the Queen continues on, her eyes flickering down to Paul’s lifeless body where it’s still sprawled out on the floor. “I want you to give Paul the rest he deserves. Then, in three days time, I’ll trust you and three others to journey and meet with the sorcerer from across the sea. We’re going to need to figure out how to defeat her with magic. There’s no other way.”

“Of course,” Alberto nods, bowing a bit.

“Three days time? To meet with a sorcerer? We need to go save her _now!”_ Harry complains, but the Queen holds her arm out, stopping him. Harry’s face is stricken, hopeless.

“Take Paul away, please. With dignity,” she adds to Alberto, her voice finally tremoring.

A fellow knight named Dale aids Alberto in picking up Paul’s body, both careful as the guards unlock the doors to let them out.

Everyone watches as the doors immediately slam shut behind them. The room bows their heads as the minister that performed the marriage leads them all in a quick prayer, crossing himself as he goes. Silence follows, a deeper silence than even before, laced with sadness and ambiguity, questions unasked and unanswered.

“What’s going on, Your Highness?” a young woman finally asks. She stands small beside the desserts with her hand tight across an elder’s shoulders.

“My sister has no heart,” the Queen explains, voice devoid of emotion. “She’s an evil witch and not welcome here.”

“What has she done to deserve such malice?” the woman probes further. “If you don’t mind me asking, Your Highness. I think we have a right to know if it affects us.”

The lines by the Queen’s eyes suddenly seem more pronounced, the years of stress and secrets showing through. “She’s to blame for the forest’s darkness and the reason we don’t go _Over.”_

“But why?” the woman asks again. “What has she done? Why would she kidnap the Princess and her husband?”

 _“I cannot speak of it,”_ the Queen answers, turning away from her. “It’s too terrible to mention.”

The townspeople get more vocal at that admission, all attempting to goad her into giving up the secrets she holds so close.

Louis has heard enough. There’s a sudden truth brewing in the center of his heart, an inevitability that Louis can’t push down and ignore.

“Come on, Lots. We have to go,” Louis tells her, his voice low. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, head turning to make sure nobody is paying them any attention as they retreat.

“The doors are locked—” she begins, but Louis silences her.

“I told you I know secret passageways,” he whispers. He leads them both deeper into the shadows, feet light to avoid the sound of footsteps. “The entire castle is run by a pulley system.”

“But why are we leaving now? What about Prince Harry? You can’t just leave him, can you?” she asks.

Louis presses his lips into a hard line. They round a sudden corner and Louis pulls open a window made to blend into the wall. “I have to go see mum. Right now. The Prince can live without me for a bit.”

“Right now? I don’t think this is time for tea, Louis! The Princess was just kidnapped and we don’t really know what’s going on! Don’t you think she’d rather we—”

“Lottie!” Louis quiets her down, both hands tight on her shoulders. He stares purposefully into her eyes, the blue familiar and frightened. “There’s something I need to discuss with her right now. It can’t wait. So come on, get inside.”

“You want me to climb onto that thing?” she asks, the distaste in her voice clear. “What if I fall?”

“You won’t. Trust me,” Louis promises her. "I'll make sure of it."

After a quick stare-down, Lottie agrees. Louis holds tight to the ropes as she climbs onto the platform, her dress tearing against the corner of the window's opening.

“Are you sure this is safe?” she groans, knees pressed to her chest as she curls into a small ball.

“Of course,” Louis only half lies. “Harry and I used to do this all the time.”

“But how are you going to get down?” she asks. “I can’t hold your weight.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll join you soon,” Louis says. He plants his feet and then begins to lower her down, shaking at the exertion. She’s small so it isn’t difficult, but his muscles still ache from yesterday’s bath.

Finally, the platform makes contact with the ground. Louis feels the ropes rustle a bit as she climbs her way out, and then hears a muffled “I’m okay!” from below. Louis stretches his arms and gives them a good shake, preparing for his own descent.

“Do you need me to give you this platform back?" Lottie shouts again from below.

“No!” Louis yells back, imagining the disaster of attempting to get down that way.

With no more reason to delay, Louis throws his legs over the edge of the opening in the wall, then turns, holding all of his weight in his arms. His muscle memory comes into play and his foot immediately searches for the groove he _knows_ is—ah yes, there! He secures his foot there, arms shaking as his other foot goes searching for its own slot.

Once he finds that, it’s easy. It’s a climb he’s made many times—though not for many years—but that’s almost second nature. He and Harry used to wreak havoc in the ballroom and use this exact pulley as their getaway; and it happened so often that they’d both spent an evening together carving divots into the wall to make their climbing experience easier and quicker.

It takes Louis less than a minute to reach the floor. He climbs through the opening and brushes off his hands, only to find Lottie staring inquisitively at the brick oven built into the wall.

“Where are we?” she asks. “Is that for torture?”

Louis laughs for the first time since the dragon appeared. “No silly! That’s an oven. We’re in the kitchens.”

Louis hardly even recognizes the kitchens himself, though, since it’s almost unheard of for the kitchens to be lifeless. The dirty dishes stacked in the corner and the discarded food piled high seem almost haunting, a disparity to the average day in the life.

Louis tears his gaze from the oddity and leads the way to the outer doors. The night air is chilly as Louis throws the door open wide, but Louis relishes in it once they make it outside. The full moon is high in the sky, the dewy grass shiny beneath their shoes and the enchanted forest seemingly illuminated. Louis feels a shiver go down his spine as he looks at it, the familiar and muted, distant echo of _enter, enter, enter_ forcing him to turn away.

From there, it’s only a short journey to the castle’s main back garden and a quick walk up a cobblestone pathway. It leads to the small cottage with grey, hand sewn curtains, a place Louis hasn’t lived permanently since he was eight years old.

But as soon as they step inside, it feels like home. The washtub in the corner and the overwhelming aroma of soap and cotton instantly calms Louis’ frantic heart.

“Louis,” Jay stands as soon as they come into view, sending the kitchen table screeching against the floor in her haste. She drops a half-sewn blanket to the tabletop and looks frenzied, her confused eyes immediately finding Louis’. “What’s going on? I heard—I swear I heard a _dragon_ earlier.”

“It was a dragon,” Lottie confirms. “It was big and green!”

“Shh,” Jay gives them a pointed look, nodding her head to the door leading into girls’ bedroom. “A real dragon? Here?”

“Yes,” Lottie says. She crosses the room and collapses onto the couch to sprawl out, all drama. “There’s currently a town meeting going on in the ballroom because the kingdom is confused and wants answers. But Louis and I got out once the witch left.”

“The witch?” Jay asks with wide eyes. She follows her path to sit at the end of the couch, her fingernails coming up to comb through Lottie’s hair. “Which witch?”

“The Queen’s sister,” Louis says, still standing in the doorway.

“Princess Blaire?” Jay asks, hand coming to rest over her heart. “I haven’t heard anything about her in years.”

“Well, she made a grand entrance this time,” Louis tells her. He leans his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, impatient. This isn’t what he needs to discuss, but she needs to know the context. “She killed Paul and kidnapped Niall and Gemma. She's keeping Niall as her husband and holding Gemma hostage in a tower.”

Jay gasps and tears up. “No. She can't!”

“She is,” Louis confirms. “And, mum, I really need to talk to you.”

His stomach flips, unnerved as he thinks about the conversation that’s to come. The truth is boiling under his skin again, the same truth that’s been destined since Niall’s voice was stolen from him only half an hour ago.

“Just me?” Jay asks. Lottie sits up straight, her eyebrows furrowed, unsure.

“You can tell me, too,” she says, attempting to look older and more mature. An ally, rather than a liability.

“When you’re older,” Louis promises her.

Jay sends Lottie a sympathetic glance. “It’s late. Why don’t you get ready for bed?”

Lottie frowns but stands, grumbling as she makes her way to the washroom.

Louis makes sure he hears the firm click of the door shutting before he steals her spot on the couch, jaw tight as his mum grabs for his hand.

“Is everything alright?” she asks him. Her palm is clammy, all nerves and anxiety.

“No,” Louis says. He forces his eyes away from hers, gaze trained to the moving shadow at the bottom of the door to the washroom. “I owe Niall for something I can never repay. I can’t sit by idly as his rescue is put off and he’s left as prisoner to a witch.”

Jay shakes her head “I don’t understand. When do you see Niall for you to owe him so much?”

“We’re friends, mum,” Louis explains. He swallows, crossing his feet together. “And he helped me out when I really, really needed it.”

Jay’s eyes narrow. “When did you need help? What haven’t you told me? Why didn’t you ask _me?_ You’re my responsibility, not Niall’s.”

Louis’ fingernails dig into his thighs, his eyes closing as he prepares to explain. “You’ve never had 100 gold coins floating around before… He does.”

Jay pulls her hand away and doesn’t speak for a moment. Time feels just as frozen as her. She shakes her head with tears in her eyes, and then.

“Louis, no. You didn’t. I taught you better than that. _You didn’t.”_

Louis bites his lip, shame welling up inside him at the sound of her disappointment. “Daisy was sick, mum. Really sick. And you were so scared. And with dad gone I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice—I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like.”

“So you went to the Cowell?” her pitch rises. “You thought that would be okay? You thought that making a deal with the devil would solve _anything?”_

“She’s alive, mum,” Louis tries to reason with her. “Which is more than what could have been. I know it was irresponsible, but I don’t regret it. I’d do it again if I had to.”

“You will never,” she says. Her voice is an icy dagger put to Louis’ throat.

“But, mum, you do realize that’s why I need to at least _try_ to pay him back, right? I know I’d never have the gold to do it, so I need to find another way to repay him. And I owe Daisy’s life to him. I can’t just stand by.”

“You’re leaving. You’re going after him,” she says, her voice blank.

“They’re not going to send out a search party until they talk to the sorcerer from across the sea! Who knows when they’ll actually even _make_ it to Niall and the Princess in the end _._ It could be a year! A whole year! I can’t wait around while Niall’s stuck in a foreign castle sitting as a witch’s trophy husband, losing an entire year of his life. And while the Princess is locked away, secluded in a tower! I have to do something.”

“I understand,” Jay says, fingers twisting together in her lap. “I do. I see where you’re coming from. And I’m so proud that I’ve raised you smart enough to know to do the right thing, and courageous enough to follow through. But I still don’t want you to leave.”

Louis rubs circles into her back. “I don’t want to, either. But I need to.”

She sniffs, her head bowed. “The last time a man I loved left to save the day, he never came back.”

 _“No,”_ Louis’ heart sinks, the wound of losing his step-dad still somehow fresh, even years later. “I’m coming back. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Louis’ breath hitches as he attempts to salvage the conversation with humor. “And I’ve dealt with the Prince for twelve whole years; I think I can handle one, measly witch.”

Jay lets out a small, incredulous laugh but sobers up quickly. She straightens up and seems to come to an understanding as she wipes at her nose. “You can’t go through the forest, Louis. It would be quicker, but it’s too dangerous. Take the mountain trail. Please. For my own sake,” she says.

Louis scoffs. “I’m not completely _mad,_ mum. I wouldn’t. That would be ludicrous. Saving a week wouldn’t be worth the trade-off.”

“Are you planning on leaving me tonight?” she asks.

“No, I’ll leave in the morning. There’s no point in leaving during this darkness.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Jay says as she wipes below her eyes. She drops her hands and sends him a fearful smile, her eyes tight. “I guess I’m going to have to pack you a bag, then.”

“I can pack one myself,” Louis soothes her. “The kitchen loves me and most of my clothes are in the castle, anyway.”

She nods. “I guess that would make more sense. You’ll take your sword, though?”

“I’ll take _his_ sword,” Louis amends. He supposes it technically _is_ his since his father had left a note of _for Louis, use it well_ beside it before he left both him and his mum when Louis was a baby, but Louis keeps it hidden for a reason. He likes to think of his father the least amount possible.

“You were the best thing about him.”

Louis smiles and pulls her into a hug, eyes closing as he lets himself sink into it. She squeezes tight enough that Louis’ lungs feel compressed, but Louis just holds on tighter, the fear beginning to set in. He feels it at the bottom of his stomach, his organs tied into a knot, heavy with dread.

Lottie cracks the door to the washroom open, then, and pops her head out. “Is it safe to come out?”

Jay wipes below her eyes for the last time. “Yes. But it’s late. It’s time for you to get to bed.”

“What’s going on?” Lottie asks. She looks so small as she stands alone, her eyes lost and worried, seeking an explanation.

“Let me tuck you in,” Louis says. He stands, ignoring the vibration that’s begun under his skin.

“I don’t need to be tucked in!” Lottie complains. “I’m thirteen. I can go to sleep however I please! What I want is _answers!”_

“It’ll be like old times,” Louis tempts her. He gently grasps her bicep and then cracks open the door to the girls’ shared room, tiptoeing as he enters. It’s dark, but he can see the two bunks set up on opposite ends of the small room, two wooden ladders attached to both.

“Which one is yours?” Louis whispers.

“It's the bottom one here,” Lottie answers glumly. “You'd know that if you didn't live in the castle."

Louis frowns as Lottie climbs into bed, the castle reminding him of his duties, of the Prince. _No matter,_ Louis thinks, blocking the thought from his mind. He pulls the blanket up to Lottie’s chin, thinking that Harry’s 18 now. He doesn’t really need him. And then when Louis comes back with Niall and Gemma safe, he’ll be forever thankful. Louis might even be able to escape his position.

Which also brings him back to his predicament, what he needs to simplify for Lottie.

Louis takes a seat at the edge of her bed, his voice careful. “I’m going on a trip—”

“Louis, no,” Lottie immediately begs, seemingly already in the know. “You can’t.”

“I have to,” Louis explains, fingers poking at the edge of the blanket to tuck her in deeper. It isn’t particularly cold yet, but winter creeps closer every day. “I owe Niall. But I’ll be back. With the Princess _and_ with Niall.”

“You’re not a Knight,” Lottie says. “You’re trained for polishing silver, not going _Over_. How will you make it?”

“I’m going through the mountains, not the forest,” Louis tells her, ignoring her jab. “There are stops along the trail for food. It doesn’t snow there. It’ll take me a month and a half, at absolute most.”

“But how are you even going to save Niall and Princess Gemma? Don’t you think they’ll be locked up?”

Louis forces the thought from his mind. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. “Nobody knows a castle like me, Lots. And nobody knows how to blend in like me, either. I just need to find them, observe the workings of the castle for a bit, and then I’ll find a way.”

“Why are you talking about this so calmly? Like it’s not big and scary? I’m scared,” she admits.

“There’s no need to be. I’m not worried at all,” Louis lies through his teeth.

“Not at all?” Lottie presses, her eyes hopeful.

“No. It’s going to be completely fine,” Louis says. Louis hopes. “And I’m not leaving until the morning.”

“You won’t leave until I get to say goodbye, right?” Lottie asks.

“I promise you’ll get to say goodbye to me,” Louis assures her.

“Okay,” Lottie agrees, lips upturning. Louis understands the look of contentment that washes over her face, the peace that comes with concrete plans during times of uncertainty.

“Sleep well, okay?” Louis says. He presses a kiss to her forehead and stands.

Lottie huffs and turns onto her side. “Don’t know how well I’ll sleep knowing my brother’s going _Over_ in the morning, but I’ll try.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Louis tries to stay positive. And after kissing the other three foreheads in the room and making sure Phoebe’s feet aren’t left hanging over the edge of her bed, Louis can’t find anything else to delay his departure. He makes his way to the door, but before he closes it behind him, he takes in the sleepy scene one last time. He watches the steady rise and fall of Phoebe’s back, hears the muffled snore that comes with a runny nose, senses the stillness of the room.

The sudden heartache hits Louis hard. This is the room he stayed in for the first few years of his life, where he lost his first tooth and hid the bits and bobs he’d secretly steal from the Prince before he’d permanently moved into the castle. It was the room that held his childhood secrets, his early tantrums and wide-eyed wonder. It makes him feel nostalgic, reminiscent of an era that feels like a lifetime ago.

He closes the door behind him and leans against it, trying not to sniffle.

Across the room, his mum is busying herself at the kitchen table, carefully folding a hand-sewn blanket and placing it into a hefty bag.

“I know you said you’d pack yourself, but I didn’t feel right leaving you with nothing,” she explains. She grabs a few apples from a bowl, checking them for ripeness before she adds them to the bag. “You’re my son. You’re still my responsibility.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “Keep that. There’s so much excess food in the castle kitchens. They’re wasteful.”

“You will take my apples, Louis,” she gives him a death glare. “And some extra strips of cloth, in case you get a cut.”

She turns to rummage through a high-up cabinet, returning with strips of cloth as well as an unused water jug.

“I want you to fill this jug with water before you leave in the morning,” she tells him as she adds the items into the now half-full bag. "Stay hydrated, my son."

“You really didn’t have to,” Louis says. He crosses the room and pulls her into a tight hug, thankful to have a person in his life that still cares to take care of him.

“Maybe I’m just trying to make up for the last trip,” she whispers, her voice thick.

“Mum. There was nothing you could have done,” Louis reassures her, squeezing her tighter.

“I’m just praying that—”

Screaming from outside the cottage stops her short. Louis tenses up, his eyes widening in alarm. The night has been too eventful; he doesn’t have the capacity to worry much more without rupturing something.

“Oh, what is it _now?”_ Jay asks, hurrying to the window and pulling the curtains aside. Louis stands by her side, a hand to her shoulder as they watch the commotion stirring at the side entrance of the castle.

It’s too far to catch exactly what’s going on, but Louis makes out that there’s a horse and a growing audience. The horse is pure white, with a red saddle that—

“No,” Louis whispers. Harry's anger, his rashness, his horse. It all clicks together. “No. No, no, no.”

“Is that Prince Harry?” Jay asks.

“Yes. That’s him,” Louis confirms. “Trying to be a martyr. Which is just foolish—he’d never blend in across the forest _.”_

“He’s not too good with a sword, either, is he?”

“No. He’s terrible,” Louis tells her. “Just overconfident and with a huge need to prove himself. He’s angry with his mum and thinks a grand gesture will make him seem more… brave. I’m not sure. Like they’re moving forward. He was just as unhappy as I was that they’re holding off on the rescue journey. She'll be able to talk him out of it, though."

“Maybe you could catch up to him in the morning. I suppose not with a horse, though.” Somewhat unnecessarily, she adds on, “And now you won’t lose your job!”

“He’d probably get there a week before me with a horse,” Louis says, one hand coming up to rub at his temple. “He’d be caught in an instance, though, as soon as he gets there. He'd be recognized. He’s so _irrational._ ”

They both quiet down, straining to hear Harry’s loud yell over the rustle of the wind.

“—will be back within three weeks!” Louis catches the tail end of his speech.

“The Prince needs to go back to his numeric lessons if he thinks—”

The nervous weight at the pit of Louis' stomach returns, this time sharper.

“He thinks he’s going to go through the forest,” Louis realizes. “He can’t do that. He’d last five minutes. We’ve never even been past the stream.”

“The Prince can’t go through the forest!” Jay shrieks. “The Queen would never allow it!”

“That's probably the reason he’s saying he _wants_ to _,”_ Louis sighs out. Typical Harry, stubborn and tenacious, determined to prove himself through excessive means.

“Harry! Get down from that horse right this instance!” the Queen’s voice carries through the window.

“Ahh. As I said,” Jay nods her head in solidarity. “A mother would never.”

Louis feels a stress headache coming on. His response is just as much trying to convince himself as his mum. “Harry would be completely thoughtless to go through with it, anyway. He wouldn’t.”

“Ah, well. Bless his heart. It’s in a good place,” Jay says.

“Or so he thinks,” Louis rolls his eyes. His legs feel restless, suddenly, anxious to get a move on. “Anyway, I should get back to the castle. I still need to pack the leftovers from the feast and a change of clothes or two. I promised Lottie I’d be back at sunrise to say goodbye. Is that okay?”

Jay nods, eyes dry, face even stronger now than before. “I’ll bake you a surprise for the trip.”

“Thanks, mum,” Louis smiles, attempting to keep his nerves at bay. He kisses her cheek and slings the bag she packed for him over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

She blows him a kiss as he pulls the door open, letting the curtain fall closed. “Sleep well, baby.”

“You too, mum,” he says, and then he closes the door.

The fresh air never fails to calm him. He breathes it in as his fingers shake, the realization that he’s going to be completely in over his head come morning weighing him down. His mind flashes to how easily the witch had killed Paul while showing no traces of remorse, which forces new, other possible scenarios into his mind. If she had no trouble killing the best Knight in the kingdom, then there’s no way Louis would stand a chance if he were to be caught.

In order to make it out, he’s going to need to be sneaky. He’s going to need to blend in well and remain unassuming, even while right under her nose.

Which could work. Louis truly is an expert at castle protocol, at understanding all of he nooks and crannies, understanding who pays actual mind to the inhabitants and who couldn’t pick a face out if they tried.

It’s… fine.

Louis keeps his head down as he moves, trying not to draw attention to himself as the Queen and Harry continue in their very loud, very scandalous screaming match in the flower patch between the castle and the forest.

“Harry, this is ridiculous,” Louis can hear the eye-roll in the Queen’s voice. “You’re not a Knight. You don’t even know where you’re going!”

Harry tightens his grip on the reins. “I’m going _Over!_ I’ve been in the forest before. I can find my way around.”

“We can talk about this in the morning. You need to calm down and think this over,” the Queen attempts to placate him.

“No! I’m tired of waiting. Gemma’s all alone, locked away in a tower like she was when she was a kid! I can’t sit around and wait for some wizard from across the sea that _might_ be able to save her! I’m going for her. It’s what I need to do!”

Louis pauses at the castle’s back entrance. His hand hovers over the door handle, too intrigued to ignore the drama. Too afraid to let Harry out of his site. There’s a determined look on his face that Louis can sense from all the way across the grass, and he doesn’t like it.

“Harry,” the Queen sighs. “Give it up. Just... stop.”

Louis knows as soon as the words come out of her mouth that they’re entirely the wrong thing to say.

“Why don’t you want me to save my sister?” Harry shouts, betrayed. “I’m the Prince! If I can’t do it, then who can? This is practically what you’ve been training me to do since I was born! I can do this!”

“No. You can’t, Harry. We gave up on you joining the cavalry long ago for good reason. You can’t save your sister all by yourself,” the Queen repeats. “You just can’t.”

Their eye contact is intense, insolent on Harry’s end, pleading on the Queen’s.

“Just watch me,” Harry finally spits out. He turns his horse and, without looking back, rides straight towards the forest.

Louis drops his hand from the handle immediately. It’s everything Louis tried to convince himself it couldn’t be.

“No!” he shouts, but it doesn’t carry over the screams of the rest of the kingdom. A few brave people run after Harry, but they’re no match for a horse. Nobody catches up by the time they’re both swallowed by the darkness of the forest.

And then everybody stops. No one dares pass through the trees.

“Harry!” the Queen actually drops to her knees and dirties her dress. Beside her, the King kneels to join her, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Louis stands motionless, his fight or flight instincts struggling against each other. Harry’s in the enchanted forest, all alone. A forest that’s full of giants, werewolves, trolls, ghosts, sorcerers, quick-quicksand, rabid flying monkeys, giant ants, bad fairies, even _Biddingbirds!_ Harry wouldn’t last a minute against a Biddingbird.

“My baby,” the Queen wails, her head in her hands. “Both of my babies!”

And that truly makes Louis’ decision. It isn’t that he has much of a soft spot for the Queen. After all, the wealth of the monarchy isn’t exactly fair to the rest of the kingdom, but a mother’s plea, a mother’s audible cry of pain, isn’t one Louis can bear to hear without guilt.

And it’s _Harry._ His Harry. The one who’s spoiled and obstinate as all else, _yes,_ but also the Harry he’s spent years getting to know. The Harry that Louis has helped learn right from wrong, the _friend_ that Louis has grown up with. The one who’s caused Louis far too many headaches, but the one who’s also regularly made Louis laugh until he cried. The person who cares so much what the other Knights have to say about his sword skills behind his back, but always, always tries his best, day after day, never giving up.

The Harry he has too much history with to allow him to die all alone, scared in the forest. Nobody deserves that.

It’s that thought that keeps him going as he sprints back along the cobblestone, his heart pumping faster by the millisecond. He slips on mud as he reaches the shed at the side of the cottage, his feet faster than his body will allow. His hands reach out as he slips, wrenching the shed’s door open much harder than he means to.

It takes a bit of frantic rearranging, but finally he finds the sword. He pulls it from the rubble and shuts the shed door, heart conflicting with his head. A messy goodbye would only make it more difficult to find the Prince before he’s too far in, past the magical stream, and lost forever. The horse’s hoof prints could be erased by a tidy troll, or Harry could try to go _around_ the stream, which could mean Louis would possibly never even find him at all. And if that's the case, he’d be stuck in the forest forever because he'd never find the person he was looking for.

He promised Lottie a goodbye. But Harry’s goodbye is much more time sensitive.

And after sneaking a glance at the now-shrinking crowd, the Queen and King still sobbing on the grass beside the castle, Louis’ mind is made.

He sprints straight into the forest.

Louis isn’t keen on breaking promises. But if he's to survive, it wouldn’t be goodbye he said to Lottie anyway.

~

After finally, finally, thankfully coming across Harry’s horse’s hoof prints, Louis’s positive that he’ll find them quickly. It’s almost certain that Harry is going to panic before he even makes it halfway to the stream, ready to turn back. He’ll realize he’s ill equipped for such a huge journey, especially alone.

But somehow, an hour later, Louis is still following a trail indented in the mud. The only living creature he’s encountered so far has been a sleeping dog with green wings fluttering at their sides, and Louis somehow can’t shake the nagging feeling that he’s being watched.

Louis throws his bag over his shoulder, almost all traces of adrenaline gone. Now he feels mostly tired and vaguely annoyed. If the Prince wasn’t so self-important and eager to _prove himself_ , then Louis would be safe in his bed, stomach full of leftovers, tossing and turning with doubts as he tried to get to sleep.

Louis continues his search, kicking at the mud. If he gets lost and stuck here because Harry is untraceable… Louis can’t even fathom it. He blocks the half-formed thought from his mind, shooing away an overeager fairy that swoops down upon him. The fairy is yellow, the most trustworthy of all the fairies found in the forest, but Louis doesn’t have the time to converse.

“Sir, this is the way you want to go! Follow me,” they say, wings fluttering as they hover ahead of Louis.

“You’re trying to get me lost,” Louis huffs. He figures he might as well ask, though. “I’m searching for a Prince. About my height, curly hair, big white horse with a red saddle. Have you seen him? Is he close?”

“Oh, yes,” the fairy grins. “Very close, now. He seemed quite distressed when I last saw him. He’s the son of Anne! I miss her. She was so, so lovely.”

“The Queen used to frequent the forest?” Louis asks, perhaps unwisely following the fairy deeper into the trees.

“Yes, yes,” the fairy confirms, their wings shaking in excitement. “She was my favorite visitor when people used to come visit.”

“That’s weird,” Louis says. He can’t imagine the Queen as a younger version of herself. It feels wrong.

“I believe your Prince should be up there!” the fairy beams at Louis, happy to have been of help. “But now I’m afraid I must be off! Good luck, though. It’s not often we get such pleasant visitors, now.”

Louis watches the fairy go and sends them a quick _thank you,_ astounded by his luck. Then he trudges ahead, guided by the white of Harry’s horse.

Louis finds the Prince crouched below a tall tree, knees to his chest, tears streaming down his face. It’s a pitiful sight, exactly the ending Louis envisioned for Harry if nobody had come after him.

“Harry?” Louis asks, approaching slowly so as not to scare him.

Harry looks up at his voice, his eyes glazed over. “Louis? Is that you?”

“Oh no,” Louis frowns as he steps in front of him.

Harry stands and immediately reaches out. He presses his fingers against Louis’ chest and shoulders, then drags them up his neck, landing on his face. Louis allows it, the relief of finding Harry overshadowing all of his prior annoyance. He’s just glad he found Harry in one piece.

“Thank God it’s you,” Harry cries. And then he hugs him.

Louis hugs him back tightly, one hand rubbing at Harry’s shoulder blade, the other curled into a tight fist at the nape of his neck. Knowing that they're both here, together, not both fumbling lost through the forest, calms Louis' mind.

“Harry. I’m glad you’re okay, but this wasn’t well thought-out at all,” Louis tells him honestly.

“I know,” Harry cries into his shoulder. “I probably wasn’t even going to do it, but when my mum said she didn’t think I could I just—I got mad. I’m not useless. I want people to know I'm not useless. Just because I can’t hold my own during a sword fight doesn’t mean I’m incapable of doing anything.”

“So when you get mad you run off into a very, very dangerous forest?” Louis asks. He softens his words by nuzzling his nose into Harry’s curls, hugging him tighter as the relief of finding him spreads.

“Gemma’s all alone and probably scared,” Harry sniffs. “I’m upset. We both know I don’t make the best decisions when I’m upset.”

“If you needed to play the savior, you should have gone through the mountains. The mountains are a much safer way to go. Your safety is important, too,” Louis says.

Harry’s forehead drops to Louis’ shoulder. “But she’s _alone.”_

“She’d be more alone without her brother,” Louis reminds him. “When did your vision cut out? How long have you been unable to see?”

“As soon as I realized I couldn’t do it and got off my horse. Once the thought came into my head, everything turned black,” Harry admits. He sounds ashamed, embarrassed to have failed so quickly.

“It’s alright,” Louis attempts to calm him. “We’ll just have to find a way for you to see again. We’ve done it before.”

“Did anyone even come looking for me?” Harry continues to cry. “Did anyone even care that I left?”

“Hey,” Louis says. “What am I? I came after you!”

“Only because you thought you needed to,” Harry counters.

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “No way. That’s not in my job description. If I didn’t care about you, you’d still be crying beneath that tree.”

Harry pulls back then, eyes still unseeing. “You came because you care about me?”

“You can’t go through the forest alone,” Louis says. He brings his hands down to grasp at Harry’s arms, a solid comfort, as he always tries to be.

“You actually want to come with me?” Harry asks, lips turned downward. “I would have thought you’d be excited to have three weeks away from me.”

“Although that would have been nice,” Louis attempts to make him laugh. “I couldn’t let you go at this alone. I actually was… well, I owe it to Niall, too. I was going to leave for him in the morning.”

“So I just sped up your departing time?”

“Sort of,” Louis shrugs. “I was going to go through the mountains.”

Harry hiccups on a sob. “I should have, too. But now I’m stuck here.”

Louis tries to circumnavigate the mysterious rules of the forest. “No, Harry. You were thinking that you wanted to prove a point. Not save Gemma. That’s not what your goal was when you ran in here.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t. Proving a point,” Harry says, eyes screwed shut as though to convince himself.

The thing about the forest is that it always knows. When Harry opens his eyes, he still can’t see.


	4. Into the Woods

_~_

_“Will you always love me?” Blaire asked one day, the question a result of yet another long day spent in the forest. Anne paused from brushing Blaire’s hair, her face confused.  
_

_“Of course, silly,” Anne responded. “Always and forever, no matter what. You’re my sister!”_

_“Do you promise?” Blaire asked. She made eye contact with her sister in the mirror, seeking a reassurance bigger than either of them._

_“I promise.”_

_It comforted her endlessly at the time, but it began to feel like it wasn’t enough. It was a slow unraveling, like a loose thread on a sweater, unnoticeable as the days went on, but the progress apparent when looking back._

_As they grew older, Blaire began to resent the forest even more. Beneath the shade of the trees, she felt like a complete outsider. Everyone loved Anne, but nobody ever spoke to her unless necessary. Because of her jealousy and unease, it was difficult for her to connect to anyone but her sister. The fairies only made her mad, the unicorns were too large, and the imps reminded her of a terrible dream from childhood._

_Blaire began to suggest new activities and places to go, but Anne preferred the forest to spending time in the kingdom, preferred magic to real life. She told Blaire that since she was now a teenager, she’d be perfectly happy to go into the forest alone. But instead of feeling like a reassurance, it only solidified Blaire’s belief that Anne liked her fairy friends more than her own sister. She felt like her closest friend was slipping away from her. In order to win Anne back, Blaire realized that she would have to continue going into the forest with her, no matter how much she dreaded it._

_So she did._

_But one cold, rainy afternoon, beneath heavy grey clouds and the shelter of a large, strong leaf, Blaire couldn’t take it anymore. She lost her temper in the worst way. Anne was gushing to a fairy about how beautiful her wings were, how the purple was so deep and lovely, and completely ignoring Blaire. In a jealous rage, she reached out and tore the wings straight from the fairy’s body._

_Blaire hadn’t planned to actually kill the fairy, but she was so, so, so tired of Anne always putting her second to the fairies. She did it without thinking. It was impulsive, an irrational, split second decision that completely changed everything._

~

 

**Into the Woods**

 

~

 

Mystical and volatile, the forest can look deep into a person’s soul, beyond the shallow and temporary, into the hidden core. It knows a person’s most private, pressing desires upon entering, can sense the thing they want above all else at the moment, the real reason for entering the forest in the first place. Then, though Louis isn’t sure it was meant as a blessing or a curse, the forest tries its best to get that person to stay until they achieve their goal.

The trade off is that they achieve it or lose their vision forever.

At the very least, it’s a reason it isn’t safe to gamble with the forest. Most people avoid it out of fear or out of the terrible greatness it holds, the possibilities too immense and the stakes too high. But he and Harry have never exactly adhered to the norm.

They’ve only ever had the one issue when Harry was thirteen, desperate for his very first kiss and willing to risk it all to get it. So Louis hasn’t come so far to just passively accept the Prince’s vision being lost forever. This has to be reversible, there has to be a way to get it back!

“Your goal was to save Gemma, yeah?” Louis asks, clarifying. He leads Harry back below the tree and sits down on the roots beside him to brainstorm. The ground feels cold and muddy, but it’s not like it matters at this point.

“Yes,” Harry says. He keeps his hands in his lap, his knuckles white with tension as he sniffles. “But when I realized I wasn’t going to be able to do it, that’s when my vision cut out. I can’t see anything!”

“Well, then…” Louis thinks hard. It’s already been established that they’ll go through with the journey together, so he’s not sure why he still can’t see. That should have reversed it: Harry’s continuing on with his goal.

But then it hits him. Harry must not think they’re going to actually go through with it in the end. That they won’t be able to pull through when (if) they make it out alive.

“You need to believe in yourself and that you can do it, Harry. The forest knows. It _knows_ when you’ve given up. It knows when you’re lying to yourself.”

Harry screws his eyes shut, teeth biting into his lip until it turns white with the pressure. But when he opens his eyes, he still can’t see. He slumps forward, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Louis feels his temper flare. He can’t just _give up!_

“You need to believe it! If you’re secretly thinking that getting to _Over_ is just be to get out of the forest, it’ll know. Believe in yourself. We’ll save Gemma when we find our way out. I know we will. We can do it.”

Harry breathes deep. He pulls a patch of grass from the ground, his chin to his chest.

“How am I supposed to just believe that when for my whole life everyone’s told me I can’t?” Harry asks. He’s crying again. He presses trembling fingers to his nose to stop it from running. The sight is pathetic and sad and makes Louis want to throttle everyone who’s ever made Harry doubt his own worth. Everyone who’s ever torn him down, thinking that just because he’s a Prince their words would have no true meaning to him.

“Because they’re all wrong,” Louis says, the honesty in his voice shocking even him. The words come from the heart, a secret truth spilling out. “People have a lot of opinions about you, but they’re all wrong. All of them. They’re so wrong. You’re capable of much more than you think, H. I’ve _always_ believed in you. It takes a special kind of person to get up after being pushed down repeatedly. And you love Gemma way too much to fail.”

“You really think so?” Harry asks with a smile, half tears and half disbelief. He closes his eyes, his fists curled up at both his sides.

“I _know_ so,” Louis says.

And then, when Harry opens his eyes, he can see.

~

Spurred by the victory, Louis, Harry, and Harry’s horse (Sam, short for Samuel) begin the trek to the magical stream. It’s one he and Harry have taken at least half a dozen times together, most recently the day after Harry’s 18th birthday.

They’ve never actually crossed over it, having always considered it to be their barrier between the friendlier outskirts of the forest and the deeper, scarier section. There’s also the fact that the stream and bridge crossing over it is terrifying, but they’ve never discussed it as being the reason for staying close to the edge.

The stream is magical for a reason—though quite narrow, its depths are endless and the water rushes so quickly that legends say nobody has ever survived falling in. To add to that, the bridge that crosses to the inner forest is obviously hexed. As always, it glows faintly in the moonlight as they approach.

“Do you think it’s safe to cross?” Harry asks. He stops Samuel short and climbs off his back, then brushes his hands off on his trousers. He stands for a moment, watching with furrowed eyebrows before he opens the bag attached to the saddle and pulls out a piece of bread.

“We literally had a feast a few hours ago!” Louis’ jaw drops. He can’t believe Harry’s already digging into his bag when his stomach still feels stretched tight _._ “You need to save your carbohydrates.”

“Sorry,” Harry says through a mouthful. He swallows and wipes at his mouth with the back of his wrist. “I was just hungry.”

“Well, you’re going to be a lot hungrier soon if you don’t ration yourself,” Louis reminds him, biting his lip to stop him from reprimanding him any more. It’s much too early in their journey to be upset with him. He won’t allow it.

“Sorry, yeah, that’s true,” Harry blushes, looking sheepish as he stows the other half of the piece away. He shuts his bag and walks to the streamside with his hands in his pockets, taking in the rushing of the water and the glow of the unsafe-looking bridge. “I think Sam could jump this easily, but probably not us.”

“That’d be risky,” Louis agrees. He represses his annoyance and joins Harry by the water, their shoulders knocking as he stops by his side.

The supernatural glow of the bridge irks him; he’s unsure of exactly what could happen to someone if they were to step foot onto the splintered wood, so the thought of making contact with it, even just with one toe, scares him.

“What do you think it’s bewitched for?” Harry asks, sounding as scared as Louis feels. “What if it throws us into the stream immediately upon getting onto it? We’d die, then. Before we even really began.”

Louis shakes his head. “It wouldn’t just throw anyone off. How would anyone cross into the forest, then? It has a purpose. I just don’t know what it is.”

“My mum told me about this bridge once. It was just a passing thought, but she said it wasn’t enchanted until she was a teenager. She said it was the fairies’ doing,” Harry says.

Louis scratches behind his neck. Purple-winged fairies are known to be vengeful and generally untrustworthy, but the others are some of the purest creatures in the entire forest.

“If it’s fairy-made, then I don’t think we need to worry,” Louis tries to rationalize. “Fairies aren’t malicious. A fairy led me to you, actually. I might still be lost without them. I may never have found you.”

“Did they?” Harry smiles. “I’ll have to thank the next one we see, then.”

“It was a yellow one,” Louis adds on unnecessarily, stalling for time. Now that they’re here, Louis feels a lot less confident than he did when trying to convince Harry they could do this.

Harry has the same train of thought. “It feels… different. Like this. Crossing the stream. Because we never have before. It feels more, now.”

“You still want to do this?” Louis asks, though it’s a pointless question.

Harry actually laughs, hands still stuffed into his pockets. His eyes don’t tear from the stream, lost in blurred concentration. “It’s not about want. It’s about… proving myself, I guess. I know I have to be here for a reason. This could be my purpose. I don’t know what I’ll do otherwise.”

“Hey…” Louis trails off, the ache in Harry’s voice sending a shiver up his spine. “This isn’t the only thing you’re going to do in life, okay? You’re barely an adult—this is just the beginning.”

“It could also be close to the end,” Harry’s voice breaks at the _end_ and he shakes his head. “Is it bad to say that I’m afraid of dying? I’m afraid of dying before I can save her, before I can do something with my life, really, all of that admirable stuff, too. But…”

Louis listens intently over the rushing of the water, over the menacing crickets and the thick muffling caused by Harry holding tears back. He sounds small, a bit like the little boy he used to be.

“But I think I’m also afraid of it not sneaking up on me? The thought of staring death in the face, of it dragging on or having to suffer through it, knowing what’s going to happen… that scares me a lot. It isn’t very Prince-like of me, but when it comes down to it, I don’t think I’d be brave,” Harry admits.

His voice is weak and regretful. Louis grabs at his wrist without pressure, stomach swooping at his admission.

“I’ve always secretly hoped for a comfortable death. Someone stabbing me in the back before I can even know what’s happened, or in the middle of the night while I’m sleeping. When I didn’t make it as a Knight, I was relieved beneath all the embarrassment. I knew it brought my parents shame, but I couldn’t help thinking of how I wouldn’t have to go out on all the dangerous outings the other Knights have to. And it made me feel completely sick that that’s how I felt underneath it all, but I couldn’t help it.”

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, desperation in his eyes.

“I’m not brave, Louis. I really try to be, I pretend to be, but I’m not. Everything is a show.”

Harry’s words feel like a eulogy, like desperate words spoken when the end is near. It sounds like the honest truth that nobody dares speak until they have nothing left to lose.

“That’s not true,” Louis disagrees. He keeps his voice even, shunning every ounce of self-doubt he also possesses. He won’t let Harry lose hope before they even truly begin to cross through the forest. “If you weren’t brave, you wouldn’t be here beside me.”

“I was propelled here by spite,” Harry says, a bitter smile on his face. “I wouldn’t be here if my mum hadn’t said I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a purposeful decision. I didn’t have time to consider the consequences. I just wanted to prove her wrong.”

“But then you decided to keep going. And that was brave,” Louis argues.

Harry shakes his head. “That wasn’t brave. That was me stuck between a stone and a boulder. I had to keep moving forward. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You could have gone back to the castle,” Louis tells him. “You wouldn’t have been able to see, but it would have been much safer that way.”

Harry’s arm stiffens beneath Louis’ fingers as he considers.

“I guess you’re right,” Harry smiles a little. Louis tugs him closer, his other hand coming to wrap around Harry’s other wrist. He tilts his chin up a bit, seeking eye contact.

“Choice is brave. Taking charge of what you do is brave. Going against what other people think of you is brave,” Louis says. “Even going against what _you_ thought of yourself is brave. You’re proving yourself wrong here, Prince.”

“You— _you_ think I’m brave?” Harry sniffles, eyes still to the floor.

“None of my other friends have ever come with me into the forest,” Louis says. At the word _friend,_ Harry looks up at him and grins.

“I guess I forget that that’s brave,” Harry says, head held a bit higher. “Because we’ve done it so many time.”

The pressure in Louis’ chest eases. He grips Harry’s wrists tighter, an idea coming to mind. “You know what would be really, really brave?”

“What?” Harry asks.

“You crossing the bridge first,” Louis tells him. He’s not actually nervous since he knows it’s _fairy-_ enchanted, but he thinks Harry could use the small ego trip.

“I could do that,” Harry nods, his shoulders straightening with the new goal in mind. He pulls from Louis’ grip, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he attempts humor. “And if I fall in, you can take Sam.”

“You won’t fall,” Louis says, his voice dark, threatening. “Just look at the floor as you go. That’d be a tragic time to trip over a rock.”

“Noted,” Harry sighs. His fingers twitch at his sides as he approaches the bridge. “I guess this is it, then? I’m going in.”

“You can do it,” Louis urges him, only a few steps behind him. It won’t help, but being closer as Harry steps onto it feels safer, in a way. More supportive.

Harry hesitates before he steps onto the bridge, his hands immediately going tight around the handrails. Louis holds his breath as smoke rises from the spot Harry’s fingers grip, watching with a knot in his stomach as the yellow glow begins to spread through Harry’s wrists and arms.

“You alright?” Louis asks, surprised when Harry doesn’t cry out.

“Yes. Just a little tingly. It’s warm,” Harry laughs out in relief and turns to look over his shoulder, glowing just as brightly as the bridge. “It’s safe, Louis! We can pass through.”

“Thank God,” Louis murmurs under his breath. He watches as Harry slowly crosses over the bridge, relieved once he steps into the mud on the other side.

Harry does a little jig once he’s on solid ground, his dimple visible even from across the stream, the mystical glow just beginning to dim.

“Come here, Sam,” Harry calls once he’s returned to his normal color. He slaps at his thighs as though his horse is a dog, but Sam makes the jump with no hesitation. He soars over the stream easily, graceful in the night.

“You next, Louis!” Harry smiles over at him. He pets at Sam’s mane as he waits from across the stream, healthy and in one piece.

Louis reminds himself of that fact as he steps onto the bridge himself. But he quickly learns there’s no need to worry, the smoke and glow spreading just as it did for Harry. He steps forward carefully, eyes to the wood so he doesn’t step in a crack. The bridge is actually pleasant, the tingling spreading from his toes to his legs, up his thighs to— _oh God_ , not there. Louis hurries the rest of the way, his cheeks pink as he makes it back to solid ground.

“You made it!” Harry throws his arms around him. “We did it! We made it!”

“There’s still a lot more to do,” Louis reminds him, bringing him down a notch as he pulls away.

“Yeah, but we crossed the bridge. That’s a milestone. We’re really doing this,” Harry says, his voice a million times more confident than only five minutes prior.

“We are,” Louis agrees. He wills his pulse to calm down, the sudden feeling of being watched taking over him. He tells himself it’s nothing new for the forest. “Come on.”

They continue on until the sound of the stream is muted and distant, no more than a memory. The darkness feels thicker the further into the forest they get, more threatening and absolute than the area they’d been before. It makes their every step sound like a dish dropping to the floor and shattering, a call to attention.

“Maybe we should just stop here for the night,” Louis suggests. He pulls his sword from his belt and drops it to the floor, claiming their territory. They’ve made it to a small gap between trees, allowing a bit of moonlight to filter through and illuminate the area. Louis can see his hand if he puts it before his face.

Harry agrees easily. He ties Sam to a tree and detaches the bag hanging over his side. Out of the bag comes a sleeping pad and a thick blanket, which… bothers Louis more than it should.

But Harry brought half a bed to the forest.

How unnecessary. He could have used that space for something useful.

“Must be nice to have a horse do your heavy lifting,” Louis comments without filter.

Harry catches onto his tone. He answers, his voice slow, testing. “Sam can carry your bag tomorrow, too. If you want. He’s strong and nice. I can share.”

Louis shakes his head as he pulls his own blanket from his bag. “Never mind.”

He can’t help but press the blanket to his skin, eyes watering at the comforting scent of home that washes over him.

“You can share the mat with me if you’d like,” Harry offers. “Body heat, and all. It would be warm.”

“It’s fine,” Louis says, stern. He gathers a pile of fallen leaves and makes himself his own version of a comfort mat.

“I really wouldn’t mind,” Harry says, his feet turned in as he continues standing, unmoving. “I’d probably feel safer. You would, too.”

Louis can sense that it’s less of an offer and more of a pleading request. Louis is proud, though; he doesn’t need the Prince’s unnecessary luxury. He doesn’t need to feel any more in-debt to him than he already is.

“I think we should take turns sleeping,” Louis offers as an answer. “In case a giant ant tries to attack, or something. So there’s someone alert all night. I’d feel a lot better.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Harry agrees. “Do you want me or—”

“I’ll go first,” Louis offers, too jumpy to sleep. Harry nods and sets up his bed, keeping a careful distance from Louis’ own bed.

“Goodnight,” Harry says finally. “And, um, if it makes you feel any better, it still feels like I’m sleeping on stone. This mat isn’t very comfortable.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Go to sleep, Harry.”

He’s snoring within minutes.

Which is, well. Now Louis is truly in charge.

He sits up against a tree trunk, petrified now that he’s alone with his thoughts. Because they're toxic, consuming and extreme. The honest truth is that this entire operation is completely hopeless, no matter how fervently he tries to pretend otherwise or ignore the nagging unease in his heart. He’s never been trained with a sword, Harry still doesn’t know how to use a sword after a lifetime of training, and they’re completely in over their heads.

Not every creature in the forest can be thwarted with a sword, anyway.

Nothing points to either of them making it out of this unscathed, if alive at all. Louis isn’t dense enough to pretend otherwise. There’s too much unknown, too much that can go wrong. One step out of line could be the end. He knows their odds, and they aren’t in their favor.

His mind can’t stop flashing back to earlier in the night when he tucked Lottie in, promising her a goodbye he’s unsure he’ll ever be able to make good on.

He attempts to distract himself with watching over Harry and Sam’s rising chests, a reminder that they’re all still alive and in good health. They’re still here..

Sam came to rest by Harry’s feet as soon as he chewed on a bit of grass, and Louis is surprised to find that he actually finds it a bit… endearing… that they’re curled up so close to each other.

But it quickly comes to light that Louis doesn’t have time for endearing. He doesn’t have time to take in anything other than the weird whistle he swears is getting louder by the minute. He doesn’t have time to ignore the faraway sound of what could be… footsteps. Coming closer.

He’s essentially alone in an enchanted forest with a mostly useless Prince and a sleeping horse. Louis grabs his sword from where he’s let it rest on top of his blankets, hoping to ease some of his worries.

The whistle eventually quiets but the footsteps seem to edge closer.

Louis stands, heart racing as his eyes dart through the trees, through the darkness. He tries to speak but his voice catches in his throat, his hand shaking as he realizes he’s terrified himself frozen. He can’t move.

But then he looks down at Harry and Sam’s sleeping forms, oblivious and unconscious. It stirs up a fire within him, a spark of bravery that he didn’t know he possessed. Louis takes a few hesitant steps towards the noise, his sword gripped tightly in his hand.

He’s surprised at how easy it is for him to switch from complete panic mode to the defensive.

But he supposes it isn’t really too surprising. His mum’s coined it “big brother syndrome."

It’s the drive that’s given him the courage he's needed for most obstacles, a residual bravery that he only pulls out at the worst times. It’s what switches on when he feels the need to protect or comfort, what forces him to push down his own feelings and fears in order to remain calm and sharp. It’s exactly what kept him rational earlier by the stream—he’s just as terrified as Harry, but showing it at the time seemed like it could have upset the delicate balance they have going for them.

He continues forward, quicker now as Louis realizes that they’re actually a perfect team. Harry needs him. And being needed replaces all of Louis’ nerves with purpose. They even each other out.

“Who’s there?” Louis asks. His voice comes out soft but strong, cutting through the trees as the distance grows between Louis and Harry and Sam.

He continues on, ears perked up, listening hard for the footsteps. Now that he’s further and closer, he feels himself being pulled forward, almost like he’s drawn to a magnet.

“Hello?” Louis asks. He glances over his shoulder to check on Harry and Sam, now only tiny dots in the distance. When he turns back around, he shouts.

“Jesus!” Louis jumps back. His breathing stutters as he takes in the red mist before him and the creature, almost more beast than man, emerging out of it. A chill instantly washes through his body.

It’s someone he’s only met once before, four years ago when his sister was sick and he was desperate. He’d never forget those searing green eyes or his red-tinged skin. It’s impossible to overlook the way his very presence makes Louis sweat.

It’s the Cowell, and he’s even more disturbing than Louis remembers. He’s the most terrifying and most powerful creature (person? Louis isn’t sure) in the entire forest, and it shows. Being so close to him makes Louis want to cower at his feet and curl into the fetal position.

“H-hello,” Louis backs away.

The Cowell turns his gaze straight to Louis’ sword.

“Oh, I’m not—I’m not going to try to hurt anyone. Especially _you,”_ Louis explains, tripping over his feet.

The Cowell blinks and raises an eyebrow. “Is that your sword, then?”

“It—technically, yes. It is mine, but I don’t plan on using it against you,” Louis tells him.

The Cowell lets out a short _hm_ and glances to his left, into the trees. They rustle. A terrible smile grows on his lips.

“Tell me, is Prince Harry here with you?”

Louis swallows, unsure what the correct answer is.

“I already know. I can hear all,” the Cowell reminds him.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here with the Prince,” Louis admits.

“Ah, yes. Tonight was Gemma’s wedding night, wasn’t it? Good night for a party,” the Cowell muses.

Louis jerks out a quick nod, still subtly trying to distance himself from the terrible being before him.

The Cowell stares him down, unnaturally still as he stands. He could be a statue; Louis is contemplating running the opposite way when he speaks again.

“The funny thing about secrets is that they take so long to build. It’s like a log cabin, stacking one log on top of another until it’s become more than just a few building blocks. It creates something more, the finished result of everything put together. But then it just takes one misplaced log to make it crumble. One slip up ruins the whole thing. When it took so long to build the cabin in the first place. It doesn’t seem very fair or just, does it?”

Louis stands immobile, eyes wide. He’s afraid. The Cowell’s voice has a treacherous tilt to it, one Louis doesn’t ever want to hear again.

“I know _you_ have secrets. But your Prince has a few of his own, too.”

“What kind?” Louis asks without thinking, too nosy for his own good.

“You should ask,” the Cowell hisses. “You also shouldn’t leave him alone in the night. You never know what’s lurking about here. I should know.”

And that's the word that sends Louis back peddling. He immediately breaks into a sweat and turns to run the other way, his skin prickling with the daggers the Cowell’s eyes are stabbing into him.

“Don’t lose your sword,” the Cowell shouts after him, his voice terrible and booming. “We don’t want a log to roll out of place, do we?”

Louis runs. He runs and doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop until he reaches their makeshift campsite and drops to his knees beside Harry’s head, his fumbling fingertips pressing to his neck to make sure he has a pulse.

Louis’ own heart calms as he feels the steady beating below his fingertips.

“Louis?” Harry stirs, eyes slowly opening. He smacks his lips together and sighs out a sleepy breath of air. “Is it my turn?”

“Yes,” Louis nods, desperate to hide below his blanket, to pretend he’s anywhere but here, to pretend he’s home with his mum waiting for the teabag to seep. Not here, not being watched by a terrible creature, not itching with bug bites already.

He’s hoping for instant relief, but once Louis climbs below his blanket and curls up on top of his pile of leaves, it’s impossible to fall asleep.

He’s cold and the memory of the Cowell haunts him, his red-tinged glow burned behind his eyelids. He feels a lot less safe than before.

 


	5. Into the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of blood and violence in this one, if that's something you'd like to skip! Sorry this took so long and it isn't even very lengthy... my final semester of school ever began so I've been very busy :)

_~_

_They both stood motionless as the fairy twitched and bled out on the ground, gurgles and screams of pain coming from her mouth. Eternities and minutes later she became motionless, her body turned to fairy dust, and she was blown away by the howling wind._

_Nobody spoke for a few tense moments. Anne and Blaire made hesitant eye contact, but then Anne cried and screamed, stumbling as she ran home as fast as she could. Blaire, overwrought with guilt, her eyes blinded by tears, yelled and chased after her, but she knew the damage was done. An innocent fairy was_ dead _because of her, and Anne would never love her more than her other friends ever again. In fact, she had probably ruined their relationship for good._

_Once they were back at the castle, Blaire felt sick with regret and fear, rocking back and forth in her room as she waited for her parents to throw her into the dungeon for murder._

_They never did._

_Anne never told on her, but nothing was ever the same._

_And Blaire never stepped foot into the forest again._

_~_

 

**Into the Trees**

 

~

Louis supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that Harry’s dozing off against a tree when he wakes, but it doesn’t stop the rush of anger and annoyance.

“Harry,” Louis says, his voice stern as he tries to shake him awake. The ground is damp beneath his knees, the sunshine weak with the early hour. “You fell asleep! You can’t just do that!”

Harry resists Louis’ attempts to rouse him and squeezes his eyes together tighter. His unruly curls fall over his face, shielding his face from Louis’ view. “A few more minutes.”

“No,” Louis says, shaking him harder. “You don’t get five more minutes. You’re not in charge here. You weren’t even supposed to be sleeping in the first place!”

Harry smacks his lips together but doesn’t give him a response.

Louis sighs. “I’m not going to be bringing you your breakfast in bed to wake you nicely like I do at home. Wake _up!”_ ”

“Ooh, breakfast,” Harry finally blinks the sleep out of his eyes, ignoring the contempt in Louis’ tone. His voice is low with sleep. “I’m hungry.”

“Oh my God,” Louis groans. He stands and cracks his back, stiff from the early chill and hard ground. “Eat, then. If it'll get you up.”

Harry nods and yawns, taking a few more lazy minutes to prepare himself before he joins Louis and stands. Louis watches with his foot tapping, impatient, itching to move forward. The area feels tainted, almost as though he’s still being watched, unable to clear his mind of the previous night.

After a quick breakfast of an apple for Louis and bread with cheese for Harry, they’re finally back on their way. They sneak past a sleeping pack of peaceful deer and enter an area strewn with tall, thick trees.

Harry offers Louis the saddle space behind him, but Louis rejects the offer before it’s halfway through Harry’s mouth.

“No, no, no. No way. No _thank you._ I’m fine on the ground,” Louis shakes his head, not letting his annoyance show. He tries to remind himself that it isn’t Harry’s fault Louis is so wound tight, that even though Harry chose this reckless path, Louis was the one who went in after him. He didn’t have to come with him.

He’s more irritated with himself. Irritated, but he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Harry nods and keeps his face forward, lip between his teeth as he gives Louis the silence he so desperately needs.

~

As the placid morning walk continues, the sky begins to deepen in color. Clouds roll in, thick and dark and grey. The rain begins with a light drizzle, but within minutes it evolves into a full-out thunderstorm. Harry, Sam, and Louis hide out under a large leaf, but it doesn’t do much to protect them from the rain.

Louis is soaked through within five minutes. He can feel dirt eels swimming below his feet, moving the ground.

Harry stands seemingly unperturbed beside him, lips pressed together in a small smile with his nose to the air.

“Well… this puts a damper on our plans,” Harry says, his lips twitching at the pun.

Louis stands with his arms crossed over his chest, closing his eyes against his sudden desire to throttle Harry.

He regrets everything.

With no response given, Harry grabs his bag from Sam’s back and digs into it.

“Oh no,” Harry frowns as he pulls out a piece of bread. “The bread’s gotten all soggy.”

“Wow, that’s—” Louis blinks, shaking his head. A hungry Prince is even more insufferable than an average Prince. “Just great. Everything is going just great.”

The rain doesn’t let up for another long, long, long hour. Throughout that time, Harry attempts to make polite small talk with Louis, asking about his sisters, his mum’s _“laundry thing,”_ and even whether he’s got a secret girlfriend he didn’t get to say goodbye to before he left.

Louis gives him short answers, his heart twisting when he remembers his promise to say goodbye to Lottie.

_It’s not goodbye, it wasn’t goodbye._

“Not really a girlfriend type of guy,” Louis turns his head, effectively shutting down any further questions.

Finally, once it’s clear enough, they continue their trek. Harry giggles at the way their shoes squelch in the mud and Louis finds himself clenching his fist, muscles tight as he tries, tries, _tries_ not to think unkind thought of the horribly naive and spoiled Prince at his side.

The Prince that’s going to get him killed here. The Prince that will probably get him killed even if they somehow make it out of the forest. The Prince that Louis both despises and loves at times, the passion behind both equal.

Harry offers to let Louis ride Samuel to give his feet a break, but he refuses. Harry doesn’t get back up onto the saddle himself.

He walks beside Louis instead. Because Harry has always known the best ways to unknowingly get under his skin. He just wants Harry to stop _talking_ and give him the space.

“I really don’t mind walking,” Louis tells him.

Harry stuffs his hands into his pockets and bites his lip. He stares forward, his voice getting small as it shakes. “Louis… why are you mad at me?”

For a Prince, Harry always hasbeen bad at confrontation.

“I’m not _mad._ I’m just frustrated.”

Harry nods his head. He keeps his eyes to the ground, mouth twisting in a way that Louis knows means he’s grappling with what to say next.

“Hey. If you didn’t follow me in here, what would you be doing? Be honest,” Harry prods him. He elbows him in the side, softly but with intent, trying to make a joke out of it.

“First of all, I’d be in the mountains, not here. I’d be safer and warmer,” Louis lists, his jaw tight. “I’d feel a lot better because I’d have had time to say goodbye to my family before I ran off on this reckless suicide-mission. I wouldn’t have to stay up all night because a brainless Prince fell asleep while he was supposed to keep watch.”

“Oh,” Harry looks down, face falling as all trace of a joke vanish. “I really, really didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Harry puts a little bit of separation between them, his expression guilty. There’s still a light mist raining down from the sky, but Louis worries the sheen covering his eyes is something more.

“No, Harry—” Louis groans, reaching out to stop him. “You’re not brainless. That was rude of me to say. But even just last night, I saw some… _thing_. Something really terrible. And dangerous. _Really_ dangerous. It scared me. We aren’t safe here like we are under the castle's protection. I’m not sure you understand that completely, which _also_ scares me.”

“I know it’s dangerous,” Harry argues. He wipes below his eye discreetly, sniffling. “And I won’t fall asleep again. It was just once! But now you’re mad at me and don’t even want to _be—_ ” his voice cracks, “here with me anymore.”

Making Harry cry is the last goal on his list. He just wanted him to understand, not to feel unwanted or like some burden to his life.

He brings his hand to Harry’s shoulder, slowing him down and keeping him close. “You just need to remember that it’s dangerous in here. It’s scary for me to think I have to be the one to take care of _both_ of us since you seem to think this is just some fun adventure. When it isn’t. It really isn’t.”

“I know,” Harry admits. “But it feels like… like if I ignore how bad it is, then maybe it won’t be real?”

“That’s—” Louis cuts himself off, _the most nonsensical thing I’ve ever heard_ echoing unsaid. “This is real, even if you ignore it.”

Harry finally looks sufficiently spooked and guilty, as though the truth is finally, finally setting in.

Louis is relieved. But, not wanting a sullen Prince by his side for the rest of the day, Louis kicks a bit of mud at Harry’s calves, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Hey!” Harry shuffles to the side. “What was that for?”

“That’s real mud,” Louis points out. He kicks some more at him. “Just making sure you know.”

“I know it’s real mud!” Harry now looks irritated. “What are you doing?”

Louis bends down to scoop up a handful of mud, and then throws it straight at Harry’s shoulder. “That’s real mud, too. Remember, Harry?”

“Stop!” Harry yells, flinging the mud off his shoulder with a look of disgust on his face. “Stop throwing mud at me! I know what mud is! Of course I do! Stop making fun of me.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks. He kicks a bit more at him for good measure. “Are you _sure_ you know what mud is, Harry?”

And then Harry smiles.

Finally.

“That was a good day,” Harry laughs, mud still dripping off his shoulder.

“Maybe for you!” Louis pretends to be outraged. “Your mum gave me an earful!”

“You told her we’d fallen into the pig’s trough when it was obvious we’d been mud wrestling. You were insulting her intelligence,” Harry points out. “She doesn’t like that.”

“Well,” Louis huffs, “maybe if you didn’t leave me all by my lonesome to think up our cover stories every single time we got in trouble, we'd have had something more believable.”

“Sorry,” Harry sighs. “You know I’m working on that.”

“I do,” Louis affirms just as Sam lets out a loud neigh. “You have gotten much better with age.”

“On the other hand, though, standing up to my mum is what led us into this mess in the first place,” Harry points out. “So maybe it’s better if you’re the one who makes the final decisions for us.”

“True,” Louis laughs. “Maybe it can be a team effort, though. Equality.”

Sam neighs again and throws his head back. Harry pulls on the reigns, but he refuses to move forward until Harry gives his mane a scratch and pats him on the back.

“I didn’t know you were someone who got scared,” Harry turns back to Louis. “What did you see last night?”

Louis rolls his shoulders, the thump of his sword against his leg beginning to ache as they continue on. His back feels as though it's crying out for a rest. Neither compare to the shiver that runs down his spine at the memory of the Cowell, though. “Someone I hope you never have to meet.”

Harry’s expression turns morbid, curious. “What happened?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nothing important. He just made me think something had happened to you. It was pointless, really. A superiority complex gone wrong.”

At his words, the forest grows dark; instantaneously, unnaturally, and to the extreme. Louis reaches out, finding Harry’s shoulder as everything falls into blackness.

Even Sam’s white coat has turned invisible.

Harry’s body tenses up beneath his fingers. His voice is nothing more than a whisper. “What’s going on?”

With that, twenty pairs of glowing red eyes blink open in front of them. Louis’ heart stops.

Everything begins with one deep rumble, a quick, hollow sound followed by the ground shaking. Louis’ first thought is that they’ve somehow triggered an earthquake, but it stops too quickly.

Sam squeals on the next rumble, followed by the sound of him galloping away.

“No!” Harry yells. He lurches forward, as though to follow in Sam’s footsteps, but Louis stops him. It’s pure instinct, a sudden, violent drop in his stomach that prevents it.

This time, the ground shakes so suddenly and violently that Louis almost falls over. He can feel the wind gust against his face and Harry jump backwards at that same moment. Distantly, he smells smoke.

“That was a tree branch!” Harry’s voice shakes. “It almost hit me. Do you think it hit Sam? Do you think he’s—”

Louis cuts him off and pulls Harry back with him just as the ground begins to shake again.

They turn and sprint the way they just came, the unnatural breeze whipping through their hair as the ground shifts. Louis’ hand drops down to grip Harry’s, lacing their fingers together so they don’t separate.

Louis’ heart begins to beat out of his chest as more and more trees awaken, eyes red and angry, branches swinging at them at an increasingly rapid rate. They seem to triple in number by the second.

“How many more _are_ there?” Louis panics. Harry’s hand is clammy in his, his grip deathly tight.

“More?” Harry asks.

“Yes, more!” Louis yells, icy fear spreading all along his fingertips. “Happy trees don’t have angry red eyes like these, Harry!”

“I don’t—I don’t see anything,” Harry says. He stops, jerking Louis back with him.

“Why would I—”

He immediately stops, a loud _smack_ sounding, followed by a cry of pain.

Louis can only see red as Harry jolts to the side and tumbles to the floor, hissing like there’s air leaking from a puncture wound. A desperate wheeze follows, high and watery, the worst sound Louis has ever heard.

It feels like his arm has been ripped from his socket along with him, their hands still woven together. Harry’s grip immediately slackens.

It sends Louis spiraling, immediately clicking from panicked to survival-mode.

“Get up, Harry! We need to move,” Louis bends down to help him stand, his legs going numb as he feels another gust of air flutter past his ear. “We need to go the other way so you can see again! Get up!"

“Can’t—” Harry gasps out, leaning heavily on Louis as they attempt to stand, limbs trembling.

 _“Can!”_ Louis tells him. He hopes the adrenaline will sustain Harry until they can find their way out. The urgency presses down on Louis as he tries to walk them forward, Harry’s feet dragging as he does his best to keep up.

Louis keeps an arm tight around his waist, his heart beating out of his neck as the ground continues to rumble around them in pulses.

He turns his head, praying for some hint as to where they are or how to get out, and he catches a quick spark of fire among the sea of red. It’s distant, could possibly be a set-up, but something in Louis’ gut tells him it’s the answer, their salvation. He pulls Harry along toward it, his fingers digging into Harry’s skin to keep him alert.

“Can you see? Is it all black?” Louis asks him. Harry’s head drops to his shoulder, heavy, his feet failing to hold him up.

“Can see,” he slurs into Louis’ ear.

“That’s good,” Louis reassures him. “We’re almost there. We’re almost out.”

Louis has no idea where they’re going, if every tree in the entire forest shares the same lethal sentiment of wanting them dead as soon as possible. He can’t see anything. He—

He shouts as a branch comes down hard on the very edge of his foot. He feels it crack, feels his last three toes immediately break into shattered shards of bone and tissue.

He almost sinks to his knees, stubborn tears forming in his eyes as the final remnants of hope drain from his body.

They’re going to be killed by an angry tree. That’s how they’re going to go, an _angry tree,_ with nobody to find their body or ever know exactly what happened. He’s going to die without saying goodbye to his sister or falling in love or allowing his mum to go into early retirement.

His eyes squeeze shut and his knees finally buckle. He holds his breath as he waits for another blow, the final hit that will knock him unconscious so he can die in peace, get it over with.

“Louis,” Harry breathes out, his voice weak. The arm around his shoulder tightens faintly, keeping him standing. “Louis, come on. We’re almost—almost there.”

Louis blinks, heat trickling into his chest and replacing the icy fear. Harry’s words reground him, give Louis the strength to wince and continue on through the pain. They can make it out. Follow the sun, follow the light. Follow the spark.

Louis ignores the following gust and the sound of nearby whacks to pull Harry in close, making them both as small as possible, a more difficult target.

“Water,” Harry rasps. “Hear water.”

It’s the light at the end of the tunnel. Moonlight filters through an opening only meters ahead of them, a rushing stream freely flowing. It’s the most beautiful place Louis has ever seen, his eagerness to reach it making it look even more picturesque. He and Harry hobble forward, the number of trees with glowing red eyes lessening as they get closer and closer to the stream.

“We’ll make it,” Harry almost laughs. His chest seems to go concave as he wheezes out another breath. “We’ll be okay.”

Louis nods, ignoring the burning in his foot as it swells. “Okay.”

After dodging one more branch, they finally reach the clear.

The air here smells fresher and the more pure, untainted except for the hint of smoke. Sudden relief passes through Louis’ body in waves.

Louis wastes no time and shifts all of his weight onto his good foot, turning with his hands on Harry’s shoulder to face him and assess the damage he’s sustained.

But before he can get a good look at him, he’s hit in the center of his back by a stray branch. They both tumble straight into the stream.

~

When Louis blinks into consciousness, it’s to Harry’s arms wrapped tight around him, both their heads fighting to stay afloat as the rapid stream carries them along.

His back throbs, the blanket and clothes in his backpack not having done much to soften the blow. The cold feels nice on his foot and toes, but it feels like he’s swallowed three mouthfuls of water while he was out. His lungs burn.

“You okay?” Harry shouts over the rushing water.

Louis tries to nod as he kicks his legs out, keeping them afloat. His sword knocks against his leg painfully, turning over and over with inconsistent undercurrent.

He coughs out a mouthful of water, kicking harder as his head threatens to dip back below the freezing water.

“I’m good,” Louis answers, one arm coming to wrap around Harry’s shoulders to hold onto him, the other reaching out for something to grasp onto.

They bob along, struggling to keep their heads above water as they reach small rapids.

Louis shivers, the stream surrounding him, enclosing him. Weeds and rock edges bump against his fingers as he reaches out blindly, his body locked tight with the cold, pain throbbing all across his body.

He finally gets a tight hold on a large tree root. His arm muscles flex and protest as he squeezes both hands tight around it, his legs coming to wrap around Harry’s waist to be sure he doesn’t float away from him.

“Harry! Go!” Louis yells, spitting water from his mouth as the river level rises.

Harry’s arm reaches out to grab onto the root, too. “Too high. I _can’t.”_

“Harry,” Louis begs, his exhausted arms shaking with the effort of holding on, him against the stream. “You can do it. Once you’re out, you don’t have to move for the whole night! But you have to get out first.”

Harry lets out a sound, half a groan and half an agreement. He shakes as he pulls himself up the riverbank, through the mud and tall grass, inching out of the water slowly. Louis feels his lungs fully expand for the first time all day as Harry climbs to safety. His eyes frantically search throughout the visible trees for an angry pair of red eyes.

He doesn’t see any, so once Harry has safely flopped down onto his stomach, yards away from the stream’s edge, Louis follows. It pains his toes, but the feeling of relief when he makes it onto solid ground and nothing immediately tries to kill him is worth it.

Louis drops down beside Harry, ridding himself of his backpack and sword all at once. His teeth chatter as he turns Harry over onto his back, finally able to feel something other than dread. He presses his fingers over Harry’s body to find where he was hurt.

Harry curls into himself and his face scrunches up in pain as Louis presses a spot close to the center of his chest. Red begins to mix with the darkened fabric of his wet clothes and Louis feels his apple making its way back up his throat. Splinters of wood are embedded into Harry’s shirt, the jagged edges holding the fabric close to his body, pinning it to him.

“You’re bleeding,” he needlessly points out. He undoes the first few buttons of Harry’s shirt, his fingers shaking with cold and apprehension as he pries the shirt and the splinters from his body. Harry cries out in pain as Louis takes in his raw wound, the smaller, more deeply ingrained splinters still wedged into his bleeding skin.

“My mum gave me bandages. For cuts. But I have to take care of something first,” Louis grimaces, not wanting to let Harry know exactly what.

Harry’s eyes don’t move, the lids half-hooded over his irises. His voice is feeble, tapered off and breathy. “…Trust you.”

He's only half conscious. It’s unlikely Harry will even remember this come morning. It comforts Louis, though he’s unsure it will make it any easier.

Louis sits more practically, his bad foot thrown to the side, still painfully encased by his soaked and dripping shoe.

Later, though. Harry first.

Louis takes in a deep breath, his still-trembling fingers careful as they pluck out the first splinter. Harry’s face immediately changes, his eyes watering over and his teeth digging into his lip as he tries not to cry out. Tries to be _brave_ for him.

Louis immediately feels the need to comfort him, to make it easier somehow. He does all he can and thumbs away one of Harry’s tears as he goes for the next one, ignoring the throbbing in his chest as Harry cries out again and turns his face in closer to Louis’ thumb.

“There aren’t many more. It isn’t bad,” Louis lies. He attempts to smile and brushes his thumb along Harry’s cheekbone to calm him as he pulls more out, tensing up when he fails to pull out a short one and only succeeds in lodging it deeper.

“You’re being so brave,” Louis tells him. “You’re doing so well.”

“Hurts,” Harry grunts out once Louis sits back, having done all he can. “Burns. But f—freezing.”

Louis glances forlornly at his soaked backpack. He grabs it and pulls out the dripping blanket and his last apple, the throbbing in his foot escalating as he exerts himself.

Trying to clean up Harry’s wound would only hurt him more. While there’s still splinters, he doesn’t think he should apply pressure.

Without much more clue of what to do to make everything better, he wrings the blanket out as best he can, and then throws it over Harry’s shaking body.

His face has grown so pale, the veins along his eyelids purple and the delicate skin pallid. Seeing him like this, weak and in pain, makes Louis want to do something reckless, like kiss Harry's pale eyelids to keep them warm or hold his face in his hands.

But now isn't the time for comfort. Louis shakes the thought and takes off his shoe, purposefully avoiding looking at the angry red and purple blossomed across his foot.

Fire. Fire would help them both, but Louis doesn’t think he’d be able to keep himself standing if he were to try to build one.

Figuring that body heat is the best they have, Louis climbs under the blanket with Harry. He plasters his chest to Harry’s back and rubs at his shoulder, attempting to force some warmth into them with his freezing hands.

Louis doesn’t think it does much to keep him warm, but it doesn’t take long for Harry to drift to sleep. Louis wraps an arm around his middle and tries to stay awake, but things feel so dreary at the moment that he’s unsure it would do any good. Even if they were to be attacked by a rabid animal, neither he nor Harry would be able to fight back.

He's hopeless.

~

Louis rises before the morning sun, shivering and with his hand stuffed into Harry’s armpit, the warmest part of him.

Harry’s still sleeping but his lips are blue, his eyelashes dusted with ice and his teeth chattering.

Louis peels back the blanket to take a look at Harry’s chest and winces at the sight. The area surrounding it is red and puffy, the blood of the injury only halfway solidified.

Louis helplessly watches Harry sleep, his heartbeat matching every short rise and fall of Harry’s chest. It’s not a new sight to him at all, but Louis has never appreciated the Prince’s soft snores so much.

Harry doesn’t wake until the sun is high in the sky, shadows from the traitor-trees pronounced on the ground.

He groans awake, one hand coming up to his injured chest.

“Woah,” Louis wraps his fingers around Harry’s wrist and stops him from pressing down on it. “You’re hurt. Don’t touch it.”

“You… you pulled out my splinters. Last night,” Harry says, voice still soft. He sounds almost confused with the new day, as though last night might have been just a terrible nightmare.

It isn’t, though. Harry’s chest is still bleeding, Louis’ toes are still broken, and their clothes are still wet from the stream.

Through it all, though, Louis is so, so thankful to be alive.

He thinks he probably owes it just as much to Harry as to himself that they’re here right now. They’re still a team, and just how _much_ of a team they really are was made clear to him by the way Harry could pick Louis up off the ground, even with shards of wood embedded into his skin.

They’re a team and they always have been.

“Of course I did,” Louis tells him. His voice shakes. “I’ve been doing it for years. I wouldn’t stop now.”

Through the pain, Harry tries to smile.

It comes out as more of a grimace, but it calms Louis' racing heart all the same.


	6. Meeting the Sorcerer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of blood, a bit of agony, and ample death talk in this chapter. The only character that dies is an evil animal though :)

_~_

_Anne found love with a boy named Des. He was gentle and kind, brightening the darkness behind her eyes that had grown bleak with Blaire’s treacherous betrayal._

_Blaire began to date Simon._

_Simon filled the empty spaces inside of her that Anne left behind when she cut Blaire from her life. He took an interest in Blaire, a deep-rooted, almost obsessive interest that made her feel more special than she ever had before._

_Simon had a piercing stare that made her admit things she never had; she told him about the fairy, about how Anne made her feel inadequate for so many years, and even secrets that her parents had always warned her never to reveal. He held her as she cried and wiped her tears for her. He told her he loved her more than anyone in the world and he’d never let her out of his sight. She was so grateful and appeased by his love and attention that she found their unhealthy connection deep and profound, an epic love story that belonged in the theater._

_Aided in part by Simon’s persuasion, she began to detest her sister Anne, the one she used to love more than anyone in the world. He instilled a different type of jealousy in her heart, so vindictive it turned her blood to molten lava._

_It began slowly but surely, clever manipulation that made Blaire rethink what she had previously considered fundamental truths. Surely a_ good _sister would pick her over a forest creature? And surely, if Anne loved her as much as she pretended to while growing up, she would have seen how much Blaire hated the forest? A good sister would definitely stop spending time somewhere her sister disliked._

_Because a good sister would always put her first._

_A visceral hate began to gnaw at her bones, made her insides twist as the terrible truth washed over her. Blaire resented her sister for her beauty, for how well liked she was, and for her disinterest in loving Blaire correctly, the way she needed to be. She resented her for being the kingdom’s sweetheart while all she had received since the fairy incident were dirty looks, whispered concerns, and silence.  
_

_The scrutiny was so unbearable for her that Blaire moved to the tallest tower in the castle, away from her beloved sister who was before just a quick walk down the hall._

_Nothing changed the fact that Anne had always been the first choice, the first-born, the loveliest, the one people wanted to be around. Blaire held tight to Simon, to the one person who put her first without her asking._

_He taught her the magic Anne had always been so interested in—magic that was both inordinate and horrendous. Simon rationalized the dark magic by telling her she had to know both good and bad in order to be an expert._

_Because she loved and admired him, she took it as a truth._

_She became the black sheep of the family. Her parents grew increasingly concerned and urged her to stop seeing Simon. Even Anne, the one who had spurned the relationship in the first place, pulled her aside to tell her Simon was beneath her and a terrible influence. Of course, that only led to her clinging tighter to Simon, finding a sick pleasure in the way he made Anne squirm, made her uncomfortable in the way Blaire had been for years._

_She brought Simon into the castle and practiced magic with him in the great hall right under her parents’ noses. She and Simon laughed as they transfigured Anne’s green beans to worms during dinner. She let Simon stay the night and made sure to be as loud as she could, hoping Anne could hear her even while unconscious and from across the castle._

_Soon enough, Blaire felt so detached from everyone she had once been close to that she moved to a cottage on the edge of the land with Simon._

_She hoped never to see them again._

_~_

 

**Meeting the Sorcerer**

 

~

Harry and Louis spend much of the next few days lying motionless on the muddy riverbank, both aching and too weak to stand. There’s no sunlight to filter through the clouds, the gloom lingering and dark, casting the forest in a shadow of menacing solitude.

It does nothing to raise Louis’ spirits. His foot feels like a chewed piece of meat and the skin of his toes has faded into a deep purple bordering on black. The surrounding area is swollen and he feels a sharp pain spreading through him whenever he tries to put any amount of weight on it.

But he’s much less concerned about himself than he is about Harry.

Though he’s always been a heavy and deep sleeper, his growing inability to remain conscious for more than a half hour at a time worries Louis more than he’d like to admit to himself. Harry’s forehead is hot to the touch but he’s been shivering, even though his clothes are now dry.

The yellow coloring that’s spread across his wound is possibly _most_ worrying, but Louis can only handle so much at a time without screaming. Now that he’s had time to process their night, to process exactly what happened and how badly they’re both hurt, it feels as though he’s still stuck in the dark with red eyes glaring at him. He doesn’t know how to help. He feels trapped and doubtful with a semi-conscious Prince beside him and zero inkling of what to do next.

Beside him, Harry stirs and attempts to sit up, a movement that has caused him excruciating pain every time he’s tried before. Louis gently forces him back down, leaving his hand on his chest to keep him still while searching for his reassuring heartbeat.

“You okay?” Louis asks him, his face falling as he takes in Harry’s pale cheekbones. He knows he must be feeling just as fatigued as him. Just as starved.

There’s a lush-looking bush a little way down the river, but Louis’ foot preemptively screams in protest as he tries to psyche himself up enough to finally stand and gather some.

“Good,” Harry answers. His voice wavers, confirming to Louis that he’s most definitely _not_ good, but pretending to be.

This wound is much deeper and much larger than the gash he had at 16 from a close call while dueling, but Louis can still remember how loudly he wailed back then. He remembers how he cried and refused to look at the blood, how it made him feel faint and his skin turn green in repugnance. It seems that he’s grown thicker skin since then, but Louis can see the pain in Harry’s eyes and the tension in his white knuckles, can sense the overwhelming need to cry out that he’s withholding.

For who, he’s unsure.

The sun begins to set beyond the faraway mountains, ending another day. And though Louis thinks he should probably be thankful the most intimidating creatures they’ve encountered since claiming the area have been a peaceful, one-legged monkey and a giant ant that seemed to have no sense of smell, he’s instead left worrying.

Worrying about making it through the night, about how they’ll ever be able to get out of the forest, about whether he’s going to fail Harry.

Louis never has before.

He’s always been the one to save him when he was in a tight spot. He nursed him back to health after the duel and countless other instances, has saved him from the Queen’s wrath too many times to count, and was always there as a shoulder to cry on when he needed it.

Louis hasn’t accomplished much in life, but he’s always been there for Harry. He won’t allow it to be any different this time. He can’t. Without Harry, it would feel like a piece of him was missing. They've been together for so long that Louis can't imagine his life without him.

“H,” Louis whispers. He lies beside Harry and bites his lip as he looks down on him. Louis’ eyes sweep over his sweaty brow, hesitantly scan over his mangled chest. “Do you remember when you had the spots?”

“Vaguely,” Harry answers after a shallow breath. His very demeanor feels slow, sluggish, left behind.

“Well,” Louis tries to keep his voice positive. He snuggles in closer to Harry and throws the blanket over the both of them. “I remember it very, very well.”

Harry’s eyes slip shut. “Do I have them now?”

“No. But I remember it was scary,” Louis admits, his voice tight as he tries to keep it even. “Before the spots, you were coughing and had a fever. And then when you had them, your cough got even worse.”

“Why’re you telling me this?” Harry asks him slowly. “Are you saying you’re scared now? Is it worse now?”

“No,” Louis lies. “What I’m saying is that I’ve never failed to make you feel better before. And I don’t intend to now. Tomorrow when we wake up, I’m going to clean this little cut and get us some more food so we can regain our strength. And we’ll be back on our way in no time.”

Harry lies silent for a moment before he lets out a moan of pain. It’s shaky, disbelieving, a rejection.

“You can’t stand. And neither can I. We haven’t even moved in two days,” Harry says, his voice breaking. His face scrunches up as he allows another flash of pain to show through. “We’re done, Louis. We’re not going to make it out. Neither of us. We might as well carve our names in the floor right now.”

Louis can feel it in his tone. He can sense it in the way Harry’s body sags into the floor, in his ostensible hopelessness, that he’s accepted it.

That Harry has accepted that he’s looking at a long, drawn out, painful death. That he’s not going to get the quick stab in the back that he’s hoped for. That there’s nothing left for them here. That they’re essentially waiting their turn to die.

Louis’ first instinct is to argue, to tell him that he’s wrong and that he’s going to feel better in the morning. That this is all a dream and he’ll wake up warm and comfortable in the castle with Louis asking whether he’d prefer blueberries or raspberries for breakfast. That Gemma and Niall are perfectly fine and everything is going to be okay in the end.

But he can’t. Nothing is fine and if someone’s dying, Harry’s absolutely going to go first.

That’s the thought that pushes him over the edge—the knowledge that Louis might be forced to watch Harry die beside him with only himself as company. That then he’ll be alone, left with a rotting corpse and a broken foot that leaves him no way to escape or give Harry the proper burial he deserves.

This death is cruel. Louis shuts his eyes and thinks hard, willing the Cowell to come to them, prepared to trade anything and everything to keep Harry safe and alive, but he doesn’t come.

Nothing happens. Nothing changes.

Louis moves to curl his body around Harry, one arm coming across his waist to hold him close, wary of his gaping wound of a chest. He buries his nose into Harry’s matted hair and inhales, shutting his eyes against a sudden rush of tears as he finally, truly lets the very real possibility of dying, of losing Harry forever, set in.

He can’t help the sob that rips from his throat.

“Don’t—Louis, don’t cry,” Harry whispers, his voice weaker than before. He tries to turn over in his arms but Louis holds him tight, doesn’t allow him to move an inch.

“I’m going to cry tonight. A lot, probably. But in the morning we’re going to pretend it didn’t happen, okay?” Louis says thickly, sniffling as more tears stream down his face. “Tomorrow I’m going to be okay, but tonight I’m going to cry.”

“You only cry when I make you laugh too much,” Harry mumbles, his own tears joining Louis’. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay,” Louis whimpers. He squeezes Harry tighter and allows his lips to drag over Harry’s jaw, to feel the steadiness that Harry still is. He tastes salt and dirt. He whispers into his skin, “Don’t go.”

Harry couldn’t get up and leave if he tried, but Louis knows they both know that’s not what he means.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry says. He fingers at Louis’ hand thrown across his waist, and Louis feels a fresh round of tears leaking because even his _fingers_ are hot to the touch.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Louis begs him. He holds tight onto his hand and presses his forehead to Harry’s, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. Now that time feels as though it’s ticking away, Louis feels like he’s missed out on so much. He wants to map out every inch of Harry and save it in his memory because Harry could be just that tomorrow.

_A memory._

Louis doesn’t want to forget, doesn’t feel like he’s experienced enough with Harry. He wants more time. He wants another chance. He’d do it differently—he’d let Harry know how much he means to him, how much he’s enjoyed growing up alongside him, how much he’s appreciated the person he’s grown into.

Louis is so proud.

Harry’s fingers tighten against his. His voice sounds more forceful than before, power placed behind the meaning. “I won’t.”

All too aware that promises mean nothing, Louis ducks down to kiss his forehead and lets himself feel—lets himself accept.

Lets himself go.

~

Harry wakes up, if possible, worse for wear in the morning. His skin feels even warmer, red streaks surround the previously clear skin by his chest, and the yellow pus festering from his wound has progressed into an almost green color.

Harry closes his eyes as he asks Louis to do his buttons up so he doesn’t have to see. Louis does, of course, figuring that dirty fabric would probably make no difference at this point.

It can’t make anything worse.

Harry’s face is stuck in a permanent grimace with drops of sweat littering his hairline and neck. His skin is red, clammy, and almost translucent. His collarbones are prominent beneath his shirt, _weakness_ made visible with every single inch of his body.

And Louis’ stomach is tied into an anxious knot, the uncontrollable dread and despair from last night replaced with a hopeless misery.

He reminds himself not to cry in front of Harry again. He won’t do that again. How is Harry supposed to remain calm if he can’t hold himself together either?

To escape for a moment, Louis quite literally drags himself to the stream with the water jug in one hand and his ankle lifted above the floor. He takes calming breaths as he fills the jug all the way, then crawls back to Harry and forces him to open his mouth and drink.

Harry initially resists but is quick to comply. He says swallowing is painful, but hydration is more important to Louis at the moment, especially since Harry’s skin still feels degrees warmer than his.

“I know you’re just trying to help, but—I don’t think there’s much we can really do anymore,” Harry lets out in a breath. His head seems to sink further into the ground. “I think this will be a fitting death, though. It rounds out all the—all the years of luxury. I don’t think I deserve easy.”

“Harry…” Louis can’t find the words, can hardly take Harry so casually discussing his possible impending death.

“I think you deserve easy, Louis,” Harry tells him, his voice as earnest as possible for his state. “You’re probably the best person I know. If there’s anyone who deserves easy, it’s you.”

He coughs out a short laugh, face tightening in pain for a moment before calm washes back in.

Louis hates this. “Harry, stop…”

But Harry doesn’t stop. He powers on, his voice almost quick. “I could never really tell whether I wanted to be you or I had a massive crush on you, to be honest.”

Louis’ heart grows tender at his confession, an immediate, conflicting mix of emotions stirring under his skin. Harry’s words feel like another goodbye, like a too-honest truth he didn’t even dare speak before they crossed the initial bridge.

“You’re not dying,” Louis tells him, pleads with him.

“I’ve always felt like I actually meant something to you. Thank you for that,” Harry rasps, his voice sounding from deep within his chest. “I really liked that. Feeling like someone was on my side, no matter what. So if you didn’t really, please don’t break the illusion now.”

Louis is saved from responding by a loud rustling in the trees close by. Swallowing his sadness, he grabs his sword as he sits up straighter, his body rigid as he listens for whoever could be approaching them.

A twig snaps, and then there’s silence.

“Hello?” Louis whispers, not truly wanting to draw any attention to them.

Moments later, a tiny fairy emerges from the trees. She back flips through the air and glitter follows in her path, marking the ground with her presence.

Her big, beautiful wings flutter as she flies over to join them. Louis’ heart stops because she’s _pink._

“You’re a healing fairy!” Louis shouts, close to tears. His heart explodes in relief. If there were anyone in the forest who could save Harry, it would be a healing fairy.

“I am! Call me Perrie,” the fairy winks. Her expression is pleasant, but her face immediately falls when she looks down to his foot. “Ew! Your toes are broken very, very badly, did you know?”

“I’m very aware,” Louis tells her with a smile, his spirits lifted considerably.

“Well, that’s just gross,” Perrie the fairy pouts. Without pause, she brings her hands together and her wings begin to flutter faster. An orb of light grows between her hands and once the brightness is almost blinding, she throws it Louis’ way.

Louis’ foot immediately grows warm. His bones begin moving beneath his skin; and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it’s an odd sensation.

“You’re welcome,” Perrie bows in mid-air.

Louis cautiously wiggles his toes and is struck with a second spike of optimism. He feels no pain and the skin color has reverted back to normal. “Thanks!”

She flutters down lower, closer to them, her eyebrows pulling together as she takes in Harry’s weak form sprawled out on the ground, motionless.

“And how are you feeling, sir? You don’t look too good,” she needlessly points out. Her voice is gentler, as though she’s already being careful with Harry.

“Not very well,” Harry answers. His gaze is unfocused, but his eyes seem to light up as she glides closer to him. “You look like an angel to me. Are you an angel? Oh no, am I already dead? Dead before I could tell—”

“I’m a fairy, not an angel!” Perrie answers, obviously flustered. She touches her hair and bats her eyelashes. “But thank you for the kind compliment. I’ve met an angel once. They were lovely. Lovelier than anyone in this whole entire forest put together, probably!”

“You’re just as lovely as an angel, I bet,” Harry continues to flatter her. Though Harry can always put on the charm, Louis isn’t sure he’s being this way naturally, or if he’s just delirious with fatigue.

“What’s gotten you feeling so low then, Mr. Compliments?” she asks, her cheeks a deeper pink than before.

“It’s his chest,” Louis answers for him. He wastes no time and goes to unbutton Harry’s shirt to let her see. Louis winces in preparation before the shirt falls open and his wound is exposed to them both. Perrie squeaks and flutters up to the sky, covering her eyes as soon as she’s gotten a good glimpse.

“Cover him up! Cover him back up! Please!” she cries.

Alarmed, Louis does as she says.

Perrie cries openly into her palms for a few moments, but then flutters down low to sit cross-legged on Harry’s stomach. She’s still sniffling, but her expression is mostly composed.

Harry’s feet stir, but not in pain.

“Feels… colder,” Harry gasps out, his chest heaving the longer she sits on him.

“It’s your fever. Your body’s temperature is trying to regulate itself,” Perrie answers him quietly, her eyes avoidant.

“Can you heal his chest? And the infection?” Louis blurts out, desperate. “He wouldn’t have a fever if it weren’t for that. It’s the infection that needs to go before anything else.”

She shakes her head sadly, a pink tear dripping down her cheek.

“I’m too small. And that’s much too big. I’m not powerful enough,” she sniffles.

Louis’ stomach twists. “You can’t save him?”

“No. I can’t,” Perrie declares, but after a moment of consideration, her eyes brighten. “I can’t! However, I think I _do_ know someone who can. You’ll love him! He’s the nicest person I’ve ever met in here. And…” her voice drops to a whisper. “Probably the most powerful, too.”

An unexpected clap of thunder booms. Grey clouds roll in, but there’s no rain.

“You’ll find him? Is he close?” Louis asks urgently. Harry needs help now.

“Of course! You were both so nice to me! It’s not often I meet nice creatures in the forest, anymore. I’ll just go off and find him, then! Be back in a bit!”

With that, she flutters her wings and rises. She disappears into the trees a moment later.

“Wait!” Louis calls after the rustling leaves. “How long is a bit? We’ve been here for days!”

He receives no answer.

~

Hours later, when the sky is black and the eerie, too-calm silence surrounds them, Harry’s fever returns with a vengeance.

Louis tries to hold him close through the shaking, tries to wipe down his sweating skin and comfort him with fingers raking through his tangled hair, but his resolve cracks quickly. He can’t handle seeing Harry like this for another moment while he sits by, helpless and unable to save him. He presses one firm kiss to Harry’s forehead and wraps him in the blanket, then finally stands to make use of his healed foot.

His back cracks and pops, not accustomed to being vertical anymore. Weighing his options, Louis refills the water jug to the top and leaves it by Harry’s side. He tucks in the edges of the blanket again, feeling more useless than he ever has.

He turns his face.

Louis wanders back over to the stream, remembering the night that led them here. It was what led them away from danger, a hazardous blessing in disguise.

Blinking away the wetness in his eyes, he stops and plants his feet. Even in the darkness, he can make out the distant outline of the faraway mountains. The stream at his feet is a steady presence, the rush of the water never slowing and never speeding, and there’s a humidity in the air that promises a future blanket of fog. The moonlight is faint, but it’s enough to illuminate the rapids in the river, to showcase the spots that ruin the conformity of the body of water.

And in the middle of it all, alone and with no clue of where to go from here, Louis feels something inside him break. A reverential calm washes over him, the byproduct of his intense helplessness and desperation. He’s not going to be able to save Harry.

Louis has never been religious. It’s been difficult for him to believe there’s some higher power when his dad left his mum to raise a baby all by herself. A God wouldn’t have let his step dad go off into a battle and leave his mum with five kids to raise all on her own. If there were a God, Harry wouldn’t be suffering beside a stream. Daisy wouldn’t have gotten sick and he wouldn’t have had to make a deal with the devil to save her life.

Louis has seen a lot of bad in the world, but nothing to truly indicate that there’s a God looking out for him.

He drops to his knees, anyway.

“I’ve never really done this before,” Louis says aloud, almost feeling foolish. He bows his head, remembering that that’s what he’s always seen during communions. His fingers dig into his thighs, his jaw locked tight as he fights a new rush of emotion. “I’ve never really thought it would do much good. Or maybe I thought I was the exemption. That I didn’t need God or something... I don’t know.”

Louis doesn’t know a lot. He lowers his voice to make it feel less like he’s talking to himself.

“I—I don’t know if it’s fair of me to ask you for something so big when we’ve never really spoken before. But you’re supposed to love everyone, right? I think that must include me. I don’t think I’ve really done anything terrible enough to warrant you hating me. I help my mum with money. I try not to complain about my job... often, at least. I haven’t stolen anything since I was a kid. I’ve never even had sex outside of marriage.”

Louis tries to remember all of the other religious rules, but he can’t think of much other than Harry at the moment, closer to dying by the river with each passing moment.

"I just want you to please consider what I’m asking. It isn’t even for me.”

Louis breathes in, a lump in his throat as he lets the hopelessness flood back inside him.

“Harry’s really sick. And I’m worried about him. He’s pure. He doesn’t think he is, but he is. He’s only 18. He’s barely even grown.”

Louis drops his hands down in front of him so he’s half bowing. The riverbank is muddy and squishes below his palms, but he pays it no attention.

“I’m praying that he can recover. For him to be strong again and for Perrie the fairy’s friend to get here in time to save him, because I don’t see another way out. I’m praying that Harry and I can both get out, together, and that we find some way, somehow, to save Niall and Gemma. Because they deserve it too. There’s a lot of bad in the kingdom right now, you know?”

With no response, Louis nods to himself.

“I guess that’s everything I needed to talk about. To ask for. So, just, thanks for listening, I suppose,” Louis finishes.

He sits back and lets himself cry, lets his lips wobble and his body shake and his heart pound out _unfair, unfair, unfair_ with each beat.

Harry doesn’t deserve this.

Louis resolutely wipes below his eyes and stands, unwilling to be separated from Harry for any longer. He stops by the bushes and ignores the stab he feels in his gut when he realizes the only berries on the bush are rotten. Enlarged fruit flies buzz by and give Louis suspicious looks.

Louis rejoins Harry and crawls under the blanket with him. He holds him as he shakes through the fever, skin red and eyes restless.

Louis bites his lip against the tears, ignoring the thought that Harry could be dying in his arms at the very moment.

~

In the morning, Louis wakes up to a handsome stranger crouched down at Harry’s side. Fog surrounds them, but Louis can make out the he’s in all black, with a long jacket and tall, laced boots.

Louis instinctively goes to reach for his sword, but he’s distracted by the way the stranger is touching Harry tenderly, carefully. A bitter feeling swells inside of him, a mix of protectiveness and jealousy.

“What are you doing?” Louis demands. He hugs Harry tighter to him and winces as Harry fights to blink his eyes open.

“Perrie sent me,” the stranger tells him. He puts his hands up in innocence. “She said there was someone dying by the stream and they needed help as soon as possible. I figured _he_ was the one that needed help since you were clinging to him like a saran-monkey.”

Louis narrows his eyes at his tone, but he figures he needs to stay on their last hope’s good side. He sits up to pull Harry’s shirt open wide.

“What do you call yourself?” Louis asks as the stranger’s eyebrows lift, taking in the sight before him.

“I’m Zayn,” the stranger says.

“Louis,” he replies, eyeing Zayn warily. Something about his presence intimidates him and leaves him feeling inadequate. He makes him feel the need to prove his worth, though Zayn can probably do much, much more than Louis can.

Louis pushes back the nagging emotion and zeroes in instead on the endless gratitude he feels now that he's arrived.

Zayn pulls Harry’s shirt open further to get a closer look at his chest. Louis tries his best to ignore it, but his insides immediately begin to burn, immediately begin to scream out that he should be the one touching Harry, not him. It's irrational. Zayn has a gentle demeanor with soft hands and caring eyes, but Louis can’t stand it.

Zayn’s fingers brush over Harry’s wound and his teeth dig into his bottom lip, worried.

Which, in turn, worries Louis.

It cancels out everything else.

“What do you think?” Louis asks desperately.

“I think I can probably fix this,” Zayn nods. He sits back and brings a hand to his chin. “I’m not much of a healer, though. My specialty is potions.”

“Okay, well what does that mean for him?” Louis asks.

“It means I need to brew him a potion," Zayn says.

"A potion?"

"Yes, a potion. I’m going to need you to find me the nectar of a green flower, a vial of blood from a giant ant, and…” he trails off, fingers tapping against his thigh, deep in thought. “And the sap of a barren tree with no leaves. The potion takes two days to brew.”

“You need me to find all of that? Today?” Louis asks. “And you won’t be able to heal him for two days after? We don’t have the time! He needs to feel better now!”

Zayn blinks at him as he conjures two vials from thin air. “You can’t rush that which you aren’t entitled to.”

Louis feels a rush of guilt as he accepts the vials. He hadn’t intended to have a bad attitude, but his heart can’t take the push and pull of hope being given and taken from him so quickly.

“Where would I find a green flower and a barren tree with no leaves that still gives off sap?” Louis asks.

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t leave my cottage much. The fairies bring me what I need.”

"That's great. That's so helpful," Louis mumbles to himself.

Louis ignores the lump in his throat as he prepares to leave—to leave Harry. It isn’t easy, the thoughts of losing him too fresh and close.

“Harry? Did you hear that?” Louis asks. He taps at his shoulder and hovers close beside him.

Harry sniffs and attempts to nod, pain etched across his face.

“Shh, don’t tire yourself out love,” Louis tells him. He licks his lips and ducks down to kiss to Harry’s cheek. He lingers after, pressing his forehead to Harry’s as he convinces himself to stand. “Zayn’s going to take care of you while I’m gone, okay? I’m going to find the ingredients. And then Zayn’s going to make you a potion and you’re going to feel good again. Okay? Okay, Harry? Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Harry whispers. “Be safe.”

It pains him, but Louis eventually tears himself from Harry’s side. He’d been contemplating doing something reckless, something that was no doubt spurred on by the uncertainty that Harry’s going to be waiting for him alive when he returns.

His lips tingle with a kiss from five years ago as he looks down at Harry’s shaking form. He can’t let him die.

Unlike before, while they were waiting, it’s now up to Louis. Louis can save him. He can do this. He _will._

“I’ll keep his fever down while you’re out,” Zayn tells him. He has a peculiar look in his eye, shrewd but almost downcast.

“Thank you,” Louis says. He grabs his sword.

Harry will still be here when he returns. He promises it to himself.

The thought of it is assuring.

~

The empty woods are bordering on eerie, though the fog is light enough that his surroundings aren’t erased. Running off of adrenaline and hope, Louis immediately goes off in search of the ingredients for Harry’s recovery, making sure he walks in a straight line so he can find his way back easily.

_Nectar of a green flower, blood of a giant ant, sap of a barren tree with no leaves._

It shouldn’t be too difficult. Plenty of flowers are green, giant ants are almost as easy to find as fairies, and it’s nearing winter. _Surely_ there will be plenty of barren trees.

Louis pummels forward, determination in each step. His hand grows clammy around his sword, nerves beginning to spike as the distance between the trees grows smaller the deeper inside he travels. As the fog truly sets in, Louis swears he sees red eyes at every corner.

The further he gets from Harry and Zayn, the more desperate he begins to feel. He’s sure to keep track of his surroundings, and even though he knows he’s walking in a straight line, it feels as though he’s going in pointless circles.

Also vaguely unsettling is the feeling that he’s being watched. It’s persistent and one he’s grown used to during his time in the forest, though he tries to ignore the knowledge of _who_ might be doing the watching. It’s worse when he’s alone. When it’s just him, he feels weaker, less brave, more susceptible to being—

Louis feels a hard blow at the back of his thighs and immediately falls forward. Instantly, he’s covered by a significant weight and hears the sounds of heavy breathing close to his ear.

He tries to turn, but the weight makes it so he can’t move an inch. Without time to think, he swings his sword back and hits the being on top of him, forcing them away.

Now free, Louis jumps to his feet and is immediately back on the defensive. The being that had him pinned seems to be an ant bigger than any he’s seen so far, and much more malicious. It charges towards him, its enlarged mandibles clicking, the stinger growing bright red in the darkness, brighter than the eyes of the trees.

Instinctively, Louis swings his sword in front of him, but it doesn’t do much but make the giant ant angry. The ant easily knocks Louis back to the ground on its next attack and sends his sword clattering to the side. Louis’ fingers reach out, but it’s just a hair too far for his fingers to make contact with it.

The ant’s antennas come down to feel Louis’ face, smelling like mud and peril. Louis digs his heels into the floor and reaches for his sword, his blood pumping so hard he can feel his heartbeat in his neck.

The ant’s mandibles snap at him, but Louis manages to slice them off just before they tear the skin of his face off.

The ant makes a terrible screeching sound and drops all of its weight onto Louis, making breathing impossible. His organs feel like they’re about to explode, so he swings his sword and chops the ant’s head off in one clean stroke. Trying to ignore the flood of blood suddenly drenching his face and shoulders, Louis pushes the ant’s twitching body off of him.

He stands on shaky legs, close to hyperventilating, and then drops the bag from his back to the floor. He struggles to open it, but then pulls out one of his vials. He breathes out a sigh of relief to see that it’s only cracked, not broken.

He knees over to the ant’s dead form, looking away in disgust as he collects a bit of blood from the still-gushing stream at its severed neck.

He seals the vial and carefully places it back into his bag, ignoring the uncomfortable itch and overwhelming stench of blood drying to his skin.

_No time to waste, next on the list._

Louis stands and realizes that because of the attack, he’s lost track of which way is which. The trees all look similar, the rushing of the stream is long gone, and it’s too foggy to see much more of his surroundings.

With no other choice, Louis continues on in search of a green flower and barren tree. He holds his sword tight in his hand, even more on edge than before, shaken and a bit traumatized. Every rustle of a leaf sounds like an approaching, murderous ant to him. Every snap of a twig feels like the Cowell closing in on him, deciding that ten years isn’t enough for him. The feeling of being watched never subsides, never leaves Louis be. He doesn’t feel alone, but with the situation he’s now found himself in, he finds that he isn’t sure it’s a good or bad thing.

Louis travels deeper and deeper into the forest, until he’s sure he’ll never be able to find his way back. He sinks to his knees in frustration, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he tries not to cry in the middle of everything.

He’s covered in blood, was almost killed by an ant, probably won’t be able to save Harry, and even if he somehow finds the two missing ingredients, by the time he finds them again… Harry will probably be out of time.

He bows his head and considers praying again, but it feels useless. Harry’s past the stage of being helped. There’s nothing else he can do but find what Zayn asked him to. He’s the one who holds Harry’s future in his hands.

Louis gets to his feet as he lets a final tear fall. He wipes it away and his hand comes back red, the ant’s blood mixed with his tears smearing across his skin.

“Great,” Louis murmurs to himself. Then he stops short.

Because there, almost completely covered by the fog, placed neatly side by side between the root of a tree and the mound of an underground ant hill, sits a full vial and a green flower, the roots dirty with mud, freshly pulled.

Louis feels his body lock into place, too stunned and afraid to move.

It feels like a trap, like the flower is taunting him and the sap in the vial could very well be poison, but it also brings back every single ounce of Louis’ hope he’d lost.

It feels like someone could be looking out for him, like there’s a being in the forest that wants Harry to live just as much as Louis.

It’s an eerie safety, a dark gamble. But Louis figures, even if it’s a trap, nothing could make the situation worse than it already is.

Louis grabs the vial and the flower and stuffs them into his bag.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep, willing whoever or whatever could be looking out for him to guide the way.

~

Louis _does_ find his way back in the dark, aided by the telltale carcass of the ant and vague memories of passing through. He rejoices as the trees begin to thin out and the fog disperses, not letting his mind come up with tragic scenarios of what could have happened while he was gone. He wasn’t even gone _that_ long, four hours at absolute most.

He reaches the clearing and breaks out into a run, hurling himself toward Zayn’s snoozing and Harry’s still form.

“Harry,” Louis gasps out as he drops to his knees. He brings a hand to his hair and presses the other against his neck, his body relaxing at the warmth, at the realization that Harry’s still here.

“Lou,” Harry rasps. He turns his head to the side and blinks up at him, his eyes hooded but open. His lips are cracked and chapped. “You’re back. You're covered in blood.”

“I’m back,” Louis smiles down at him, his fingers shaking with the need to keep touching him, to comfort him. It doesn’t feel like enough to just sit by. Harry’s still here! Louis feels his eyes tear up in absolute relief. “It’s nothing. I’m okay. _You’re_ okay!”

“The ingredients?” Zayn coughs.

“Oh, yeah,” Louis shakes his head. He digs into his bag and pulls out the two vials and the flower, then hands them to Zayn.

“That was quicker than I thought it’d be,” Zayn says. He waves his hand and a small cauldron appears.

“Just two days now, right?” Louis asks. He watches with halted breath as Zayn measures out the ingredients and pours them in.

“Maybe a little bit less,” Zayn answers. Louis reluctantly grins, lets himself hope for the best.

Louis lies down beside Harry and takes one hand between both of his. He presses gentle kisses to his knuckles and brings their joined hands to his cheek, breathing in the calmness that takes over him as he watches Harry’s chest rise and fall.

“You’ll feel better soon, H,” Louis tries to smile. “Just a little bit longer now. Don’t leave me.”

“Won’t,” Harry says. “Won’t leave.”

His arm jerks as though he’s trying to bring their hands to his lips, but he’s too weak.

Louis does it for him, ignoring the swooping sensation he feels in his stomach at the weak pressure of Harry’s kiss.

~

Zayn stays along as they wait the days out. Perrie the fairy and a few of her friends join them and bring them fresh berries every so often, and even though Harry has trouble chewing, he eats and keeps down the ones Louis feeds to him.

Zayn watches them both with his gentle stare, a mix of curiosity and understanding, but he stays quiet. Zayn doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill the silence with needless chatter, for which Louis is thankful. Louis mostly just lies at Harry’s side, fingers ghosting over his sweating skin as he whispers encouragements for only Harry to hear.

He’s still holding on, much to Louis’ relief. The gash on his chest grows more discolored and dangerous-looking as the hours tick by, but Zayn and Perrie are able to keep him healthy otherwise.

And the potion will be ready in the morning.

Louis’ heart feels like it’s permanently in a state of heightened anxiety, pounding double time even as he’s sleeping. It’s difficult to catch his breath, it’s difficult to stop shaking, and the only thing that seems to calm him is holding Harry’s hand, making sure he’s breathing and not in more pain than he was before. It feels like it’s hurdling toward the finish line, racing Harry there.

How he wants them to be there.

Right now, Harry’s head is placed in Louis’ lap as Louis tries to untangle the knots in his hair, a meaningless activity to calm his shaking fingers. Harry’s eyes are closed and his cheekbones are protruding more than Louis would like. He wants to kiss them, wants to bring back the life and vibrancy inside Harry that he’s had sucked from him since he was knocked down by the tree, but he refrains.

The amount of activities he’s had to refrain from in the past few days has been astronomical. There’s never a moment he doesn’t want to be touching Harry, comforting him… kissing him…

Louis reasons that it’s just because Harry’s doing so poorly. Nothing else.

The possibility of it being more frightens Louis, makes him feel even more terrified and dismal. He’s never been in love and has never even really considered the possibility of falling in love until he was more settled. The irony of realizing he could possibly be feeling something for someone he’s literally shared a wall with for years just as he’s on the brink of death is unpleasant and morose and upsetting. Louis will not allow the thought.

Unable to resist, Louis brings his fingers to Harry’s lips and traces the outline of them. They’re so close. It won’t be long now…

“I think he’ll make it to morning,” Zayn gently addresses him. “Your love. He’ll make it.”

Louis bites his lip, denying nothing.

“Waking up is when it's worst,” Louis reflects. “That feeling when you’re unsure what you’ve missed, what could have happened while you were right beside him, unknowing. I’m terrified just thinking about tomorrow morning.”

Zayn’s eyes flutter half closed and he nods. His fingertips are pressed together on top of his crossed legs, mouth set in a tight line that makes Louis anxious.

“You came in after him. Into the forest,” Zayn finally says.

“I did,” Louis confirms. He brings his fingers from Harry’s lips to his jaw, tracing the bones there.

Zayn blinks and, in spite of the gloom, smiles, trying again. “You’re in love with the Prince. That’s why you were so wary of me when we fist met. That's why you didn't like me.”

Louis shakes his head, though the less serious change in tone is nice. “That isn’t true. I liked you just fine. And I went after him because I care about him, yes. Because he needs me. But we’re here to save Harry’s sister and her husband.”

“I don't mind the unfair judgment. Love can make you a bit hard-headed, but I don’t think they’re in here,” Zayn tells him. “We always know when there’s a new presence within the trees. The atmosphere in here changes.”

“They’re _Over._ The witch kidnapped them. We’re just passing through,” Louis explains.

Zayn’s eyebrows shoot to the sky. “Just passing through? I’ve never heard that one before. How do you expect to defeat the witch if you’re caught? Or… oh.”

Zayn’s hand flies out, fingertips pointing towards Louis’ sword. “Your sword is enchanted. I didn’t realize it before.”

Louis’ fingers don’t pause from the lines they’re drawing along Harry’s neck veins. “My sword belonged to my good for nothing father. Believe me, he was and this sword is nothing special.”

“Are you sure? May I?” Zayn asks. Louis nods and kicks the sword towards him.

He plants his fingers in Harry’s hair and watches as Zayn’s fingers gloss over the shiny metal. His head tilts to the side as though he’s listening, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“This is no average sword,” Zayn finally decides. He sets it back down respectfully. “The magic is old. And powerful.”

Louis’ stomach drops. “I killed an ant with it. You don’t think the ant is somehow going to come back to life or haunt me, do you?”

Zayn smiles to himself. “No, nothing like that. I couldn't tell if it was a good or bad spell. The magic feels neutral.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Louis asks.

“Some magic doesn’t have good or bad intentions. Some magic lets the subjects choose for themselves how to use the sorcery. Your sword is powerful, but it doesn’t feel especially dangerous to me.”

“How can you feel magic? How did you know?” Louis asks. He’s had the sword for years and it never felt any different than Harry’s to him.

“Practice. Intuition. A glow,” Zayn explains. “I’m also guessing I’ve been around much more magic than you have in your lifetime.”

“I don’t think I was around _any_ magic in the kingdom,” Louis shakes his head. Harry stirs and bumps his nose into Louis’ thigh to get his attention, prompting Louis to ease out from under his head and curl into his side. Harry sleeps better while he’s being held, Louis has noticed.

“Not all magic can be seen. Sometimes it’s just there, even if it isn’t acknowledged,” Zayn tells him. He stretches and yawns, lying down beside his still-simmering cauldron.

Louis encases Harry’s hand in his and gives his knuckles a good-luck kiss.

In the morning, all will be well. Harry will be okay again. Everything will return to their relative normal.

One more night.

~

In the blink between consciousness and slumber, Louis dreams.

It’s an unclear dream involving a man he knows only from his aura, his face vaguely ringing a bell but not completely registering. The dream is hazy along the edges, but it feels urgent. The man carefully brushes the hair from Louis’ forehead and cups his cheek, but not in a way that makes Louis feel uncomfortable. He presses his face into the warmth and wants to reach out, to thank the man for something he can’t put into words, but as soon as the thought is there, Louis’ eyes flutter open.

His heart immediately stutters and explodes, his shaking fingers pressing Harry’s hair back as he prays for his eyes to open.

His tongue comes out to wet his lips, which serves the same purpose, so Louis immediately breaks down into tears. He kisses both of Harry’s cheeks and tries not to let his chin quiver as he stares down at the beautiful, breathing person beneath him.

“Zayn!” Louis doesn’t bother to keep his voice down as his thumbs rub beneath Harry’s sunken eyes. “Zayn! He’s awake! Zayn, Harry’s ready for the potion!”

“I know,” Zayn says from behind him, much closer than Louis had anticipated. “I was just stirring it.”

“Sorry,” Louis apologizes. “It’s just that I’m ready. He’s ready. We’re ready. _Please.”_

“I’m ready too,” Zayn clarifies. “And this is probably going to hurt a bit, so. Perhaps a hand for him to squeeze would be good.”

Louis nods and takes one of Harry’s hands in both of his, then brings them to his lap. “He’ll feel better after though, right? It’ll be worth it.”

“He will,” Zayn promises, his voice steady and reassuring. The cauldron simmers purple at his side, smoke rising steadily as Zayn dips his fingers inside.

“Zayn!” Louis warns, but Zayn shakes his head.

“This potion needs to be administered by human touch. And a sorcerer can only feel the heat of others,” Zayn explains.

He touches the center of Harry’s wound and it sizzles, the smoke changing immediately to a pale green.

“Oh dear,” Zayn frowns just as Harry’s eyes and mouth snap open.

Louis’ teeth dig a hole into his lip as Harry begins to wail, his hand clutching Louis’ more tightly than it has for days. It pains him, makes him want to take every ounce of hurt from Harry’s body as he watches him curl inward, begging not to be touched. Zayn doesn’t remove his hand from Harry’s chest and seems to be counting to himself, perfectly composed next to a crying, thrashing Harry.

“Quite the mouth on this one,” Zayn tries to joke over Harry’s screams of protest.

“Harry,” Louis tries to soothe him. He squeezes his hand. “Harry, this is good. You’re going to feel so much better soon.”

Louis has to look away, can’t control his own tears as he watches a few roll down Harry’s face. The pain in his voice feels like a knife to Louis, makes it so he can’t form sentences without his voice breaking in compassion.

But all the while, the wound seems to grow smaller. It’s as though the potion spreads through Zayn’s unmoving finger, ridding the wound of the discolored pus and etching away the darkened, worrying red lines in the skin surrounding it.

And eventually, Harry’s screams dwindle down into a muffled whimper. His fingers let up a bit and Zayn is able to pull away. He dips his fingers into the potion again and brings his hands back to touch at the more stubborn areas of his wound. Harry’s feet kick out at the touch and his face screws up in pain, but he seems stronger, less fragile to Louis.

Once Zayn has deemed him cured, Louis feels as though the world snaps back into place.

“…would wait a few days to begin traveling, but he shouldn’t have any more fever or infection,” Zayn explains. “I’ll stay overnight just to be sure there aren’t any complications, but I think he’ll have a full recovery in—”

Louis stands and wraps both arms around Zayn. Zayn freezes and seems unsure how to reciprocate, so Louis buries his nose in the crook of his neck and sags into his arms. He feels a bit like a wet noodle, unstable and loose legged and as though he could fold at any moment.

Zayn holds him up and pats his back kindly, if a bit awkwardly.

“He’ll be alright,” Zayn reassures him. “Your love.”

“Thank you,” Louis sniffles into his neck.

~

In the morning, Harry is healed, there’s a new bottle at the bottom of Louis’ bag, and Zayn is _gone._

Louis isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to repay him.


	7. Tell Me a Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long :( school is hard
> 
> TWs for this chapter are violence, an emotionally manipulative, murderous bird, mention of suicidal feelings, a lot of death talk, and a story of an accidental murder. If those are hard for you to read, you can message me on tumblr and I will give you a summary of the important bits <3 <3 <3

_~_

_Eventually, Anne and Des married. Only a month later, the King and Queen retired the crown and allowed them both to take over as rulers of the kingdom._

_This made Simon angry. He insisted that he and Blaire would make much better rulers and that Anne becoming Queen was yet another unfair privilege she didn’t deserve. He argued that Anne and Des would be too soft, too forgiving, and ultimately cause the demise of the entire kingdom._

_It was Simon’s idea._

_He and Blaire found themselves creeping up to Anne and Des’s bedroom in the middle of the night, heavy daggers hidden beneath their sleeves. Just a quick, simple spell was enough to render the lock useless. Blaire took pause as she approached the bed, then held the dagger with a shaking hand above the heart of the sister she had once loved more than anyone._

_“Hurry!” Simon urged as he rounded the bed to get to Des, but his words woke Anne._

_“Blaire?” she asked in shock, her voice low with sleep, disapproving, confused, and frightened._

_Vulnerable._

_And Blaire couldn’t do it._

_Though it was buried beneath her abhorrence, she still loved her sister and hesitated at her words. She still somehow desired to prove herself to Anne, to please her sister even though it had been years since they had said more than a few clipped sentences to each other._

_Anne studied the hovering dagger with a defiant eye as she pulled herself out of bed. And once she was standing, she wielded a sword from beneath her pillow. She pointed it directly at Blaire._

_“You need to leave.”_

_~_

**Tell Me a Story**

~

“You scared me,” Louis admits to Harry in a low voice.

Harry shifts on the ground beside him. Aided by the berries brought by Perrie the fairy, Harry has been trying to regain his strength. He’s been sleeping on and off throughout the day to allow his body to recover, but now that the moon is gleaming, he’s wide-awake.

They both are.

But Louis is more tired than he’s ever been, so exhausted, his stomach’s seemingly permanent anxious knot plaguing him. He hasn’t slept well since they first set foot in the forest, really, but he’s especially not slept well since Harry’s health began to decline. So now that Harry’s healed and healthier, he thought maybe he’d be able to finally drop off for a few hours.

He can’t, though. Even though that the worst seems to be over, the fear won’t subside. He can’t forget. He can’t _relax._ Each breath feels one step closer to an inevitable breakdown.

“Sorry,” Harry whispers to him, his voice still weak with lack of use. “Was scared myself.”

Louis lets his eyes slip shut, allows his forehead to drop down to rest against Harry’s shoulder. They’re both huddled below the blanket, but Louis has been hesitant to hold Harry in the way he had as he lay dying. Now that the imminent danger is gone, the lines of what’s okay and what isn’t feel unclear.

“Of course you were. That was insensitive of me,” Louis apologizes through a shiver.

Tonight feels colder. Louis isn’t sure it’s because he’s not holding Harry in his arms, because his adrenaline and the fiery, insistent need to heal Harry has been extinguished, or because they’ve made it to the heart of winter.

Louis has lost track of the days. Time has blurred into one unending nightmare.

“Not insensitive,” Harry reassures him. “You’d be alone without me. Being alone in here sounds frightening.”

“That’s not—” Louis argues, pulling back a bit. Harry’s words feel wrong, like an oversimplification of the scariest and most stressful string of days Louis has ever experienced. “I wasn’t just afraid of being left alone. I didn’t want to lose _you._ I wasn’t scared just for my own sake.”

Harry’s chapped lips part but he doesn’t seem to know exactly what to say.

“I _really_ thought I was going to lose you,” Louis repeats, chest tightening as tears build in his eyes. The repression of his fear, of the terrifying possibilities ahead of him, has been a necessity since falling into the stream. But now, here, with Harry solid beside him and his health returned, Louis feels as though he’s unraveling like one of his mum’s threads.

It’s inevitable.

“Louis,” Harry breathes out. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m okay now.”

Louis shakes his head.

“You weren’t, though. Before. You weren’t okay. You thought Perrie was an angel. You thought you’d died right beside me. I watched you as you asked her if you were dead. I’ll never forget—” his voice thickens, his breathing ragged. “The look in your eyes as you said you wouldn’t leave me. Neither of us believed it. We both thought it was goodbye.”

“You’re crying again,” Harry needlessly points out. He brings his thumb to Louis’ cheek and wipes away the wetness.

“I woke up every morning unsure whether you’d still be breathing,” Louis whispers. “I never knew what I’d wake up to.”

Harry stares up at him with sad eyes. Then, without words, he grips Louis’ arm and brings him back down to lie beside him. Louis rests his head on his shoulder, a mess of tears as he buries his nose into Harry’s neck, breathing in. As air gets more and more difficult to take in, he feverishly reaches over to fumble with the front of Harry’s shirt.

Realizing what Louis is failing to do, Harry stills his hands and undoes the top buttons for him. He pushes the front of the shirt open and grabs Louis’ hand, pulling it to the center of his chest over the scar from Zayn’s finger.

“Do you feel that?” Harry asks after a moment. Louis’ body shakes as he tries to calm down, tries not to fall even further apart beside Harry. “That’s healed. _That’s okay_. And it’s all because of you.”

“S-stop,” Louis gasps. He buries his face deeper into Harry’s skin, never close enough, his shaking fingertips kneading into the flesh of Harry’s chest.

“I wouldn’t be here without you. And I’m not just saying that,” Harry says. The hand not covering Louis’ hand on his chest rubs across Louis’ back, calming him. “You’re the one who made it so Zayn could brew the potion. You’re the one who kept me warm every single night. You’re the one who gave me the courage to hold on. The—the reason I’m here. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Louis feels like his body finally loosens up as he breathes in deep, still unable to speak. Harry’s fingers tighten between his and he pulls their hands slightly to the left, over his heart. His other arm embraces Louis, pulling him closer against him as he rubs up and down his side.

“I’ll keep watch over you tonight just as you have for me. You don’t have to worry,” Harry assures him, his breath warm against Louis’ skin. “I’ll be here.”

Louis tries to nod in answer, his tears slowing as he allows his breathing to calm down. The shaking comes and goes in intervals, lessening as he allows himself to sink more fully into Harry’s embrace, to feel Harry’s resilient heart beating below his palm and fingertips. Eventually, Louis’ hand gravitates back to the center of Harry’s chest, his fingers brushing over the raised scar and staying there.

Harry’s lips press against his forehead and then his temple. Louis has to squeeze his eyes shut so he doesn’t cry again.

He’s overwhelmed by the comfort of the gesture, of the feeling of someone taking care of _him_ for a change.

~

When Louis wakes, the sun is on the wrong side of the sky and Harry’s chest is solid beneath his head, Perrie the fairy fluttering a few feet above him.

“Morning sleepy head,” she giggles to Louis, raising a blueberry into the air. Harry opens his mouth and she tosses it down.

“You missed,” Harry complains as he plucks the wayward berry from the ground. He stuffs it into his mouth and swallows, then immediately opens his mouth for the next berry.

Louis feels almost clingy this morning. He wants Harry’s arm to be holding him tighter, for Harry’s attention to be focused on him. He blushes when he remembers how Harry’d held his hand over his heart as Louis cried onto his shoulder, but he wants to feel just as connected now, in the daylight. Louis almost resents Perrie for distracting him now that Louis is awake too.

“Isn’t that berry dirty, Prince?” Louis tries to tease him, directing Harry’s attention back to himself. His voice comes out deep and raw, a result of his difficult night.

“My mum isn’t around to stop me,” Harry laughs. He chews while smiling, and something about the action makes Louis’ chest feel concave.

Harry looks happy, healthy, and whole. For the first time in a while.

“Perrie said we could leave today. That I’m finally healthy enough to stand and walk,” Harry explains, his lips tinged purple with berry juice.

“No, no, no! I didn’t! I said that I _thought_ you might be, but I still needed to check to make sure!” Perrie squeaks, tone dripping with disapproval. “Don’t even think about leaving without drinking the potion Zayn’s been brewing for you! I’d be absolutely furious!”

“Where’s this potion?” Louis asks as Harry mumbles out an apology.

His question is answered only moments later. Jade the fairy emerges from the trees with a bowl set atop her head. Her wings are fluttering quickly and, if it was possible, Louis thinks she would be sweating.

“Uhh? A little help?” she demands. Perrie rushes to her side and assists with half of the weight until they can set it down beside Harry’s head.

“You feeling better today sunshine?” Jade asks Harry. She tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear and kisses his forehead as she flutters above him, almost motherly in nature.

“Much, much better,” Harry affirms.

“Good,” Jade grins as she comes to sit cross-legged on Harry’s chest, glitter trailing behind her. Louis pulls back to give her more room to stretch her legs, only a little bit envious. “You get half and Louis gets the other half. Zayn’s orders.”

“I don’t need any,” Louis protests, but Perrie drops down to sit on him, pinning him down with a ferocious expression.

“You need your health _just as much_ as the Prince here. Don’t think we’ve been ignoring how skinny you’ve gotten!” she warns him.

Louis can’t really argue with that. He accepts his half of the potion with minimal protest, only gagging a bit.

“Ugh,” Louis shakes his head in disgust once it’s all the way down. “Tell Zayn he could work on making these things more pleasant tasting.”

“Well then! Let’s see you brew a potion!” Perrie screeches at him, her face a deep magenta.

Louis doesn’t say much after that.

~

He and Harry allow the two fairies to fuss over them before they’re given the okay to move. Jade pokes at Louis’ toes and considers the healing progression of his deep cuts as Perrie studies Harry’s chest and, inexplicably, looks up his nose.

“I think you’ll both be okay,” Perrie finally announces tearfully. She pats Harry on the cheek and flutters close, allowing Harry to hug her.

“Thanks for looking after us,” Harry says. “I’m not sure I’d still be here if it weren’t for you.”

Perrie blushes and flutters her eyelashes before doing a quick backflip through the air, obviously pleased. Harry hugs Jade next, eliciting a similar response.

Louis watches it all from the sidelines, the knot in his stomach loosening as he sees Harry standing tall, in no pain.

Jade and Perrie’s goodbyes are slightly less warm to Louis than Harry, but they still wish him well as they flutter back in through the trees.

And then it’s Louis, Harry, and the forest, just as it had been before.

~

“Are we ready to get going? Even though it’s dark? We could start in the morning,” Harry offers.

Louis shakes his head. If he were forced to spend any more time in the area he’d thought _multiple times_ that he’d lose Harry forever, he’d lose his mind. They need to leave.

Louis refills the water jug, repacks his bag, and grabs his sword.

And then they’re off.

~

Unaccustomed to walking, they hobble along more slowly than before. The tall trees shield the moonlight from breaking ground, but the sound of birds singing breaks through the otherwise quiet night, leading them on.

Louis has used the darkness as an excuse to stand close to Harry, to be sure he doesn’t—

“I’m not going to fall down,” Harry tells him with a half-smile. Louis curls his fist and retracts his hand from Harry’s lower back, where it’s been lingering for as long as they’ve been walking.

“Sorry,” Louis looks to the ground. “It’s still just a bit… scary.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it rudely. It’s just. I’m okay now, you know?” Harry says.

And Louis can see the truth in his statement. Though it’s dark, he seems to be holding himself differently. There’s resoluteness and silent determination behind his eyes, something obscure that Louis hadn’t noticed before.

It’s a positive change, both comforting and jarring all at once.

With that being said, they continue forward. Louis sneaks glances of Harry out of the corner of his eye, making sure he doesn’t stumble, that there’s no pain visible on his face.

It’s difficult to reconcile that this is the same Harry that lay dying beside him.

“What was it like?” Louis eventually asks, his voice quiet over the crunch of leaves. “Did you even know what was happening?”

Harry is slow to answer. Though his body is healed, his eyes are tired and weathered.

“It came in bursts,” Harry admits to him. “Some things are more clear to me. And some things are more fuzzy.”

“What was most clear?” Louis asks, in need of some type of closure. He wants to know where Harry’s at in his head, what exactly he remembers.

“Hmmm…” Harry thinks. “When you left for the potion ingredients... A lot of Zayn because he was so important to me surviving, I think… Feeling warm. I was really warm. I remember that. That was nice.”

Harry’s tone perplexes Louis.

The Harry he knows wouldn’t have been so nonchalant after barely escaping from the brink of death. He wouldn’t be casually discussing the pros and cons of the experience. He’d be a complete mess.

“Harry. Are you in shock?” he stops and brings his arm out to grip Harry's elbow. “Are you okay? Really? Don’t lie.”

“I think so,” Harry nods, his tone equally as serious as Louis’. “I had a lot of time to just… think. On the ground. And I think instead of scaring me, it’s made me appreciate the second chance more. I feel—different. I don’t know exactly. But now I just—really want to get to Gemma.”

“You do, do you?” a smooth voice asks from the shadows of the trees.

Louis immediately turns, his hand gripping the handle of his sword tightly. His body becomes rigid, already on the defensive.

“Who’s there?” Louis calls out, stepping forward.

“Put that thing down,” the voice mocks him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A bright blue Biddingbird slowly steps into view, its size towering over the both of them. The bird stands on its two back legs, its striking chest puffed out, obviously on the prowl. Louis shields his eyes.

“What’s a handsome Prince like you doing here?” the Biddingbird asks Harry, charming him.

“Harry! Don’t listen! Don’t look!” Louis pleads with him. But Harry’s eyes have already gone out of focus, the bird’s hypnotic irises having overtaken him.

“I’m here to save my sister,” Harry answers, his voice flat. “The witch kidnapped her.”

“The Princess,” the bird answers. It ruffles its feathers and turns its head to the side. “Sounds important. In that case, I have a mighty proposal for you.”

Louis’ stomach drops. Biddingbirds don’t make fair proposals.

“I can give you a ride out of the forest. All the way _Over._ And I’d do it for just one teeny tiny eyeball in payment.”

Harry gasps and steps back, shaking his head as he blinks rapidly. “I won’t give you one of my eyeballs!”

“Not your eyeball. His eyeball!” the bird gestures to Louis with its wing.

“I couldn’t do that. No,” Harry tells the bird. His voice is low and there's no room for argument, but Louis can sense the bird is nowhere near ready to give up.

“Harry, let’s go!” Louis tugs at his hand and tries to get him to turn. “Biddingbirds are no good! The more you talk to them, the less sense anything seems to make.”

“Not so fast,” the Biddingbird says easily. “Tell me— where would you get a better deal here? A free, safe ride? In exchange for just _one_ eyeball? It’s a steal, really. You’d be an absolute fool not to take it.”

“It’s not my eyeball, though. It’s Louis’,” Harry points out. “I don’t think the choice is mine.”

“My eyeballs don’t want to be your next meal,” Louis says, his tone final. “Now come _on,_ Harry. Let’s go the other way.”

“He’s just a servant,” the bird points out, its voice turning almost dangerous. “His eyeballs aren’t worth as much as yours. I’m doing you a favor, Prince. I advise you to take it.”

“I won’t… I can’t…” Harry trails off, but he sounds less convinced than before.

“He doesn’t need both of his eyeballs,” the bird tells him. “Are you really choosing him over your poor sister? The same sister who’s currently locked up in a room all by herself, just as she was as a child? That’s a bit selfish. An eyeball is nothing compared to an entire life. Don’t be so selfish, Prince.”

Louis feels the change in the way the hairs on his arms stick up straight, in the way the air grows heavier.

Harry turns to him, his gaze now completely glassy, his expression vacant. “I mean, it’s just one eye, right?”

With that, the bird attacks. Louis feels himself knocked to the ground, sharp talons pinning his arms above his head as his skull makes contact with a hard stone. Louis kicks out, but the bird’s mass is too large; it doesn’t feel a thing.

“Which eye do you value more, servant?” the bird asks, its beak visibly dirty with blood up close. “The right one looks bigger and tastier to me.”

“Harry!” Louis screams, terrified as the bird stares into his soul, squirming to try to dislodge his sword. The bird drops its full weight onto Louis, cutting off his air supply.

“Silly peasant. Your Prince cares more about his sister than he ever will about you,” the bird taunts him. And through the feeling of suffocation, Louis feels his eyes beginning to glaze.

One eyeball is probably worth less than Gemma’s and Niall’s life, anyway. Louis _was_ being selfish.

But just as Louis has grown to accept his fate, a sizeable rock collides with the side of the bird’s head. It immediately rises, its evil gaze directed to the perpetrator, Harry’s, way. Louis’ mind unclouds.

Now free, Louis stumbles to his feet and wields his sword. As soon as the bird charges forward, his bloodied beak aimed to Harry’s jugular, Louis stabs it in the back.

It keels over and falls to the ground, its beautiful blue feathers commingling with the mud as blood pours from its back.

Harry’s eyes blink rapidly and an apology is on his lips as they watch the bird bleed out, both out of breath.

“Louis. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t think straight. Until I saw it going for your eyes,” Harry explains. “It all clicked back into place.”

Louis stands in the mud, heart pounding, blood dripping down his sword and hand. He’s shaking, stunned, and betrayed, though he knows he shouldn’t be.

That’s what Biddingbirds _do._ They’re hypnotic, giant birds that trade favors for human eyeballs. Harry wouldn’t just sell an eyeball for a ride out of the forest if he were thinking clearly.

Harry seems to sense his hesitation. He approaches Louis slowly with his palms turned out.

“Louis, I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t. That wasn’t me.”

Louis backs away, not yet ready to be touched.

Harry stops. “You need to trust me. You’re all I have.”

Louis jerks out a nod. He does trust Harry, is the thing. He trusts Harry completely, which was why the situation shook him so deeply. Someone he’d just agonized over losing for more than a week was going to sell him out for a quick ride out of the forest.

“I owe you so much. I wouldn’t—you _know_ I wouldn’t,” Harry says. “You’re shaking.”

Harry reaches out and touches Louis’ arm, attempting to calm him. Louis shakes him off, his skin crawling.

“I’m shaking because I haven’t felt safe for weeks,” Louis tells him. “I’ve been _shaking_ for weeks.”

“I can keep you safe,” Harry promises. “We can keep each other safe. Together.”

He pulls Louis in close for a hug that feels suffocating. Harry’s everywhere, his hair in his face and his arms on his back and his kneecaps hard against Louis’ thigh. “I know it’s been hard, but I’m okay now. You don’t have to watch over both of us. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Louis hugs back, pretending for his own sanity that it’s possible for him not to worry about Harry.

It does feel a little bit safer in Harry’s arms, though.

Louis will give him that.

~

It only takes a few days for the Prince’s near-death maturity to diminish. Whereas before Harry seemed as though he’d aged a few years in a very short while, he’s slowly reverted back into a more muted version of the brash, naïve, reckless Prince he knows and loves.

It’s reassuring, but also a bit of a letdown. Louis truly does love all versions of Harry, no matter what lies he’s told Zayn, but the growing realization that Harry’s promise to keep himself safe was little more than words is stressful to him.

After waking up to Harry drooling on his shoulder twice while “on watch,” pulling him out of quick-quicksand because he hadn’t been paying attention to the ground at his feet, and having to talk both of their ways out of an evening with an ill-wishing ghost that Harry’d stuck up a conversation with, Louis is _tired_. He wants a night of peace, of rest, of Harry making good on his word. He doesn’t want to worry for one night.

One.

Night.

As it is, Louis is currently on a search for edible mushrooms while Harry tries halfheartedly to make a fire. The first snowflake of the season fell last night as they were sleeping, so they both decided it was in their best interest to stay as warm as possible.

Louis can see that not much is being done, though. He watches from the shadows as Harry rubs two sticks together, then gives up and promptly flops down onto his back.

With a sigh, Louis gathers the mushrooms he found into his bag and goes to join Harry beside the mess of unlit wood.

“Are the sticks too damp to light?” Louis asks him, successfully keeping the building frustration from his voice.

“Not sure,” Harry answers, his eyes closed as he lies still. “They wouldn’t light. But I’m starving. Did you find something for us to eat?”

“Just a few mushrooms,” Louis tells him. He grabs the sticks and, feeling than they’re both bone dry, closes his eyes in irritation. “These feel like good sticks.”

Harry grabs Louis’ bag and stuffs three mushrooms into his mouth all at once. “Maybe I’m just not as good as you at making a fire. I never really learned.”

Harry grimaces at the taste, but Louis can sense that he’s trying his best not to complain, not to make the night more difficult than it has to be. Louis is thankful and appreciates the effort, but it doesn’t erase his displeasure.

“I’m sure you’re perfectly fine at it,” Louis grits out from between his teeth. “Or you would be, if you just _tried.”_

“I did try,” Harry pouts as he grabs for another mushroom. “It didn’t work, though.”

Louis bites his tongue and turns back to the sticks, Harry’s laziness edging on a greater, more upsetting truth. He rubs two of the sticks together over the mass of wood they’ve gathered, holding back from an unnecessary, rude response.

It doesn’t work for long, though. He drops the sticks and turns to face Harry head on.

“You know, for someone who’s never given up on learning to fight, even when you _always_ lose, you’d think you’d know a little bit more about the meaning of hard work,” Louis seethes. “Even with something as inconsequential to a Prince as building a fire. This is important work, too. Even if you think it’s beneath you.”

“What are you even talking about?” Harry asks, tone defensive. “It’s just a fire, Louis. You’re better at it. I didn’t realize this would turn into an _issue_ about me thinking I’m too good for helping out. Which I don’t!”

Louis shakes his head. “I won’t always be here to start your fires for you—”

“I want you to be, though,” Harry cuts in, somewhat desperately. His eyes shine and his voice shakes, uncertain as a toe dipping into ice water. “I always want you with me.”

The air thickens, suffocating Louis.

Because the sentence unexpectedly breaks Louis into two. Because through the subtext, Louis can understand Harry perfectly. As hard as Louis has tried to convince himself that Harry’s crush at 13 had siphoned away, all of the evidence is there, out in the open.

The feelings are still there. Harry has never truly hid them well, if Louis took the time to look.

It was obvious in the way he would find Louis first when he had news, and especially from the lingering stares. It was obvious with the untimely bath boners and the covert propositions that Louis ignored. The signs were there when Harry gave him a misshaped, hand-potted bowl for his birthday and a leather bound journal for Christmas, one day after the other.

The signs are there now. Harry’s eyes have the same shiny, naïve hope they did when he asked Louis to join him skinny dipping in the hot springs alone last fall. It’s the same hesitant gleam that Louis has learned to ignore so well, but there’s nowhere to turn.

And Louis isn’t even sure he’d want to if he tried. Now that he’s had a taste of holding Harry through the night and has overcome the very real possibility of losing him, it seems irrational to deny himself something they both want very badly. Something that, at the moment, nobody is there to block.

Harry might be lined up to marry Cara or the Princess from across the sea, but he wants Louis. He wants Louis and they’re right here. It’s just the two of them.

It’s enough to make Louis think irrationally, to make his fingers twitch out in front of him with the overwhelming desire to pull Harry close and explore his body in a way Louis has never truly explored another.

His racing heart propels warmth throughout his limbs, makes his lungs work double to take in the air he needs as he considers the option.

But Louis is not irrational.

He squeezes his fingers together tightly and drops his arm to his side. Only having Harry in the forest, where nobody but themselves could see, feels like it would do more harm than good for him in the long run.

He chooses safety, rationality. Survival is his priority.

In another life, though, maybe Louis would have the courage to cross that bridge.

Harry is adamant that he’s not brave, but Louis is a different kind of coward. Louis can be brave for others plenty, but when it comes to indulging himself, it’s nearly impossible. He’s not good at taking what he wants because it’s always come with a trailing slap to the wrist. Good things have always been reserved for others, not for him.

He’s a server, not a recipient.

“I don’t think we need a fire, anyway. I don’t think it’s going to snow tonight,” Louis finally says, avoiding Harry’s eyes as the frosty breeze rolls through.

They sleep beneath a massive tree that gives them a bit of shelter. They both lie huddled under Louis’ blanket, clinging onto each other because it’s all they know now.

And it _is_ cold.

~

The morning brings powdery snowflakes and an unsettling stillness.

Louis wakes to Harry’s cold nose buried into his neck and an oversized toad staring straight at him.

Louis quickly learns that the toad is friendly, though green and slimy, its vocal sack growing every few moments. It never approaches them.

The ground has a light layer of snow covering it, half green and half translucent white. Their blanket isn’t doing much to protect them from the cold, and Louis finds himself envying the toad for its ability to stand there, completely naked, and not shiver.

The morning light is weak, just barely peeking through the white-dusted treetops. The air feels thick and the clouds suggest a blizzard is only just beginning. Louis shivers.

“Harry,” Louis whispers as he shakes him awake. “I think we should get going.”

Harry’s eyes are slow to blink open. There’s a snowflake resting on his eyebrow, and Louis has to hold himself back.

He doesn’t reach out. He doesn’t touch. Safety.

“It’s beginning to snow. I think we should get somewhere more sheltered,” Louis tells him.

A herd of giant ants whisk past them at that moment. They use their antennas to brush snow away from a hidden opening beside a fallen log, then disappear below the ground.

“Even the ants know, Harry. We need to take shelter. It’s just going to get worse out here,” Louis tells him.

“It’s cold,” Harry complains. In a movement reminiscent of childhood, he pulls the blanket up over his nose and closes his eyes.

Louis pulls the blanket back down from his face. “We’re only going to get colder the longer we sit around.”

The urgency in Louis’ voice makes Harry’s eyes go wide. He sits up and takes in their surroundings, his eyes lingering on the croaking toad, and he agrees.

So they go.

They take shelter below a cavernous tree.

They wait.

_They wait._

~

Louis has never liked waiting.

As a child, waiting on Harry was the worst part of the job. He resented the fact that Harry got to go out and have fun while he was stuck on the sidelines, waiting for Harry’s instruction. Waiting for Harry to need him.

As a teenager, waiting until he was dismissed on the weekends was the worst part of the job. Stan and Nick were on a much less stringent schedule, and they could go out whenever they pleased. His friends would all assemble by the stream and drink beneath the moonlight, but by the time Harry would dismiss him, everyone was already drunk or making their way back home.

As an adult, waiting on someone when all he longs for is independence has been the worst. He’s always quick to remind himself how lucky he is to have a stable job, but there’s always a nagging part of him, a part he can never fully quiet, that wants to make something more of himself than _servant to the Prince._

No waiting is worse than this, though.

The days and nights all bleed into one. Louis can’t tell how many days they’ve been stuck under the tree. They’re protected from the wind by the mammoth trunk and tall roots of the tree, but the snow has piled so high in front of them that they’ve had to carve out an opening so they’re not snowed in.

More than that, eating snow and bark peelings can only comfortably sustain a human for so long, much less two.

Louis is freezing, starving, and going stir crazy.

Harry has been quiet. Louis thinks it’s possible he just doesn’t have much to say other than _I’m cold_ and _I’m hungry,_ but there’s a part of Louis that wonders if he’s taken the semi-rejection from before the snow storm to heart.

Harry said he always wanted Louis with him and Louis completely ignored him. Louis feels a bit guilty for denying him any further explanation and not giving him what he wanted—not too guilty, though, because they have much bigger worries at the moment.

Nonetheless, the uncertainty and standstill quiet from him feels absolutely unbearable. Louis refuses to die in silence.

“I can’t just stay in here anymore,” Louis finally blurts out. Harry blinks his eyes open from where he’s curled up in Louis’ lap, useless blanket tugged tight around the both of them.

“It’s colder out there, though,” Harry mumbles, body limp and lifeless.

“I’m suffocating in here,” Louis tells him, urging him up. “And we can’t just hide out here forever. We need to eat at some point. We need to move. I don’t want to die in a cave under a tree.”

Harry is slow to move, his expression dejected and unenthusiastic. Pensive.

“I guess you’re right,” he finally agrees.

Once Harry has Harry extricated himself from Louis’ lap, Louis gathers his sword and bag. He pulls his sleeves over his freezing hands, and then Louis claws their way out of their tree-haven.

In the midst of the swirling snowstorm, Louis immediately comes face to face with the giant toad. Its vocal sack expands and detracts once and then it hops away into the trees.

Harry grabs onto his elbow for guidance and blocks his face from the wind with the other hand, squinting against the blinding white. The wind is strong enough that Louis has to exert energy to stand straight, energy he really doesn’t have.

Against his better judgment, Louis leads them forward. His insides feel as though they’ve flipped because he’s beyond hungry and he’s numb from the neck down, but something drives him forward.

If he’s going down, he wants it to be on his terms. If the forest is going to win after everything, he doesn’t want it to win while he’s holed up under a tree. The storm shows no signs of stopping, so it would just be prolonging the inevitable.

He and Harry aren’t going to make it out of the storm. There’s no way.

It almost makes him laugh. They’re going to die because of the snow—an element they used to cheer over and look forward to because it meant snowmen and snowball fights.

The wind knocks Harry to the ground behind him. Louis turns to help him up, but he pulls him down to join him.

Louis doesn’t protest.

And now that Louis has accepted that there’s no point of return for them, no road back, he curls into Harry’s side with no hesitation. His nose immediately feels glued to Harry’s chin, their arms and legs frosting and fusing together.

They’re going to die a statue, two halves making one beautiful whole. Louis thinks that’s a death he can accept. He hopes.

“Should I take out the blanket?” Louis asks through his teeth chattering.

“Does it matter?” Harry asks.

That’s when the snow and wind begin to calm. The snowflakes flutter rather than thrash, the wind a quiet whoosh rather than a deafening roar. It feels as though the forest is granting them a final favor, a peaceful death, a repayment for the hell they’ve been through.

“I don’t think it even occurred to me that this was a possibility. When I rushed in here with Sam—oh. Sam. I hope he’s okay. I hope he’s warm. I hope Perrie’s found him and is brushing his mane. He loved that,” Harry says with a frown.

“Sam will be okay,” Louis aims for comfort.

“I think I thought it would just be another trip to the forest. A little walk, maybe we’d have to slay a beast or two, but that’s what I’ve been training for my whole life, right? Then we’d break into the castle in _Over,_ kill my aunt, free the land, and Niall and Gemma could live happily ever after. I’d prove to you that I’m not just some spoiled Prince with nothing to offer. And Gemma’s curse would finally be broken. She’d get her happily ever after that she deserves.”

Louis nods along, allowing his finger to roam along the crevices of Harry’s upper body. Even while emaciated, he manages to look strong, somehow.

But he stops short as Harry’s words resonate.

“The Princess is cursed?”

“That felt nice. Don’t stop,” Harry asks him. He pulls Louis in closer and breathes in the scent of his hair, etiquette out the window. “And isn’t that the worst kept secret in the kingdom?”

“You’ve never told me,” Louis turns his head, getting a better look at Harry’s face, at his beautiful, troubled expression.

“Was never really my secret to tell. Just to keep,” Harry sighs.

It goes unspoken that there’s nothing blocking Harry from telling now. That whatever is said now stays here forever.

“So…” Harry swallows, seemingly unsure of where to begin. “My aunt was jealous of my mum. Growing up, and then when she inherited the crown. And then my aunt was banished from the kingdom while my mum was pregnant with Gemma, so she cursed the unborn baby to have the same flaws. But… worse.”

“Gemma gets jealous too?” Louis asks. His fingertips trace along Harry’s jawline, boundaries broken. Harry’s fingers follow a similar path along his side.

“Very. But it isn’t just normal jealousy. It’s powerful and unpredictable. The only person who’s never set her off and she’s never accidentally hurt is Niall. Which is why she was going to marry him, of course. There’s nobody better for her.”

Louis lets it all click into place.

Accidental hurt. Unpredictable. The way the Queen dealt with the Scandal.

He pulls his hand back. “She killed her servant.”

Harry doesn’t answer immediately, lets the statement hang in the air.

“She didn’t mean to,” he explains, voice tight. “She felt awful, worse than I’ve ever seen anyone feel in my whole entire life. She cried for weeks. She volunteered to spend the rest of her life in the dungeon. She—she begged my mum to be _hanged._ She hated herself. That’s why she secluded herself in the tallest tower. She never let anyone in to see her. I didn’t see her in person for years.”

“That’s got to be a difficult life to live,” Louis says softly, frosted eyelashes ghosting across Harry’s cheek. He's unsure how to feel. “Hating yourself so much that you seclude yourself from the people who love you most—I can’t imagine that.”

Harry’s lip wobbles. Louis presses his thumb to his mouth, stilling him.

“Seeing her get jealous was the worst because you knew it was magic. It wasn’t rational, so you couldn’t stop it. And so I—don’t get mad at me—but I went to the Cowell. Before her wedding. I just wanted her to be freed from the curse, especially because my mum convinced her to have a public ceremony. She’d said there would be no reason for her to be jealous on her wedding day, but I knew she’d find a way. I knew it. I was afraid for her.”

“I’d never be mad at you for that,” Louis reassures him.

“I’d thought about going to him before then _so_ many times, but I’d always been intimidated by what he asked for in return. But with her wedding coming, I just didn’t want a repeat situation. Especially on what was supposed to be the best night of her life. She’d never forgive herself. She’d lock herself away. I couldn't lose her again.”

“I remember,” Louis blinks. “I remember that night. When you got back, you were so lost. You hardly let me touch you.”

Harry’s eyes look distant, stuck in the past.

“The Cowell couldn’t even lift the curse indefinitely. He’s not as powerful as my aunt, so he could only lift it for one night. I asked for him to do it for her wedding day,” Harry breathes out, his hand shaking almost unnoticeably. “And even though it was just one night, the look on her face as she danced was worth it. I'd do it again, if I could.”

Louis feels a warmth roll through is freezing body, a deep affection spreading from his heart to his toes.

“That's amazing, Harry,” he says. He presses a trembling kiss to Harry’s ear, unable to crane his neck any further. “I couldn’t get mad at you for caring so deeply about your sister. And, besides, I’ve met with him, too. That would be hypocritical.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, eyes alight with curiosity. “You too?

Louis nods.

 

*

 

_Louis pet at his bare ankle as he waited for Niall to escape the castle, lamenting the fact that Niall, though bright and generous, did not possess the skill of time management._

_Louis anxiously plucked a purple flower from the trimmings surrounding the castle. He rolled it between his fingers as he tried to calm his racing heart, the thoughts of all that could possibly go wrong plaguing him._

_It was forbidden to venture into the enchanted forest, much less venture into the enchanted forest with the express intent of gambling with the infamous Cowell. He was sure Prince Harry recognized that something was up because of the way he avoided answering why he couldn’t bring the Prince’s laundry down to his mother before his night off._

_And Louis wouldn’t put snooping above the fourteen year old Prince. Louis found himself flinching at every rustle of the leaves, every snapping twig, every distant sound of an animal._

_Not only did it terrify Louis to think of the consequences if he were to get caught, but the actual voyage into the forest frightened him as well. He had never ventured too far into the trees, and knowing what lay on the other side, Louis wasn’t looking forward to it._

_However, desperate times called for desperate measures, and Daisy had been looking paler and weaker as the days passed by. She’d grown thin—thinner than usual—and even at sixteen, he could tell by how his mum’s eye circles had grown even darker and deeper that she was worried. Very worried._

_And, well, it’s not like Louis had too bright of a future ahead of him. Ten years of life excited him about as much as shining every piece of chain mail Prince Harry owned excited him. And what with the way things were going, that’s exactly what ten years of his life would always entail. His sister’s life meant so much more to him than ten years of what felt like indentured servitude._

_“There you are,” Niall called, looking both ways as he exited through the back of the castle. Louis stood and brushed off the backs of his trousers, sending a disapproving look Niall’s way._

_“Could you be quiet?” Louis hushed him. “The Prince knows I’m up to something. I don’t want him to know.”_

_Niall shrugged, looking much too nonchalant for someone about to enter the enchanted forest to meet the Cowell. “Harry’s harmless. He wouldn’t tell.”_

_Louis gazed down at the sack of money in Niall’s hand, glad not to be going about this alone. “Is that it, then? The 100 coins?”_

_Niall nodded and gestured toward the forest. “Are we ready?”_

_~  
_

_Louis shuddered as he took the first step past the trees. He felt like he was pushing past an invisible barrier, entering a realm of secrecy, of terror._

_Niall shivered as he fell into step beside Louis, eyes to the dark ceiling of leaves. “It’s a bit unnerving in here.”_

_“It is,” Louis agreed, his voice hushed. The forest had a sense of wonder and watchfulness that made Louis’ voice soften in his throat. Niall seemed to sense it too—that his fancy clothes and polished shoes had no place here._

_“Niall, I don’t think I can thank you enough for coming with me. And for lending me the money—” Louis began, but Niall held up his palm to get him to stop._

_“It’s really fine,” he said. “I love Daisy, too, you know?”_

_Louis nodded. “I’m lucky to know you. Not very many people have 100 gold coins to spare.”_

_At this, Niall fixed his gaze on Louis. “I know someone who has a lot more money than me and would trip over his own feet to help you out.”_

_“I think we both know I’d rather ask you for help than him any day,” Louis reminded him._

_“That’s so unreasonable, though!” Niall protested. “You two are friends, no matter how hard you try to pretend he just thinks of you as his servant or whatever.”_

_“Now isn’t the time—” Louis began to say, but a sudden apparition cut him off._

_Louis gasped and stumbled backwards as he took in the figure in front of him—a man somehow less than human, his skin tinged red and his green eyes searing._

_The Cowell._

_“Your thoughts are loud. It must run in the family.”_

_Louis’ mouth dropped open, but he had no time to inquire further. The Cowell was terrifying. “My sister is dying.”_

_The Cowell began to smile, an expression of condescension and sick joy. “Ah, and you even have the money.”_

_“100 gold coins, right?” Louis asked, attempting to keep his chest up so he didn’t look to be afraid. Niall stood tall beside him, the bag of coins raised._

_“Yes, 100 gold coins. And ten years of your life. And your sister will be cured.”_

_“I’ll do it,” Louis said, redirecting his attention. “Just—please. Make her strong again.”_

_“Not just loud thoughts then,” The Cowell pondered after a moment of silence. “Bring me the vial.”_

_A man emerged from the trees holding a small glass bottle. He had an enigmatic expression upon his face—a mix of surprise and terror, excitement and deep sadness. All the while, he kept his eyes to the floor as he made his way to The Cowell._

_“No, no, no. To this strapping young man in need,” he ushered him away._

_The man nodded and began to hobble over to Louis, his eyes still to the floor. When he held his hand out to transfer the bottle to Louis’, it shook._

_“Regards. To the—to the family,” the man whispered as he pulled away._

_“The coins! Don’t forget the coins,” The Cowell bellowed. The man nodded and tripped over his feet as he accepted the bag from Niall._

_As soon as the transfer passed, Louis felt a stabbing pain in his ankle, like a needle. He knelt down to get a good look at the black inked cross embedded there, and by the time he looked back up, the Cowell and his companion were both gone._

 

_*_

Harry doesn’t blink once throughout the explanation.

“That’s so—so brave. So admirable. It’s sweet that you’d give up ten whole years of your life for your sister's health,” Harry says. His voice comes out strong despite the cold.

Louis curls in closer to Harry, can’t get close enough. “You gave up ten years of your life just for _one day_ of your sister’s happiness. I think you’ve got me beat. That’s infinitely more selfless.”

Louis’ gaze locks with Harry’s. It doesn’t break.

And though it made sense before, Louis is once again reminded that there are feelings between them. They’re there, obvious in both of their expressions, even through the cloud of their cold breath.

In their last hours. Timing is cruel.

“Tell me a story, Lou,” Harry asks, eyes shining.

Louis breathes, tamping down the disappointment that whatever was flowing between them has been broken. A story?

“What kind of story?” Louis asks.

Harry bites his lip, smiles a little bit. “A happy one.”

“Hm…” Louis ponders, vague memories swirling through his brain of a book from childhood that his mum used to read to him on nights she had time. “Okay. Once upon a time, there was a girl with golden—”

Harry stops him, curling his fingers into Louis’ waist. “Come on, Lou. That’s not the story I want. I just want a happy ending. Give me the story.”

Oh.

Louis swallows, heart breaking as clarity washes over him. “Okay. I can do that. Okay.”

Louis locks his eyes on the treetops above them. The branches are tangled and twisted, barren and covered with snow. The whole load looks heavy, as though the branches could buckle under the weight at any moment.

Louis shuts his eyes. He lets his thoughts drift to happier times, to a place he feels tethered to. His mind feels as though it’s floating away, recognizing that the cold ground isn’t where he belongs for much longer. The thought makes Louis’ voice shake. “So, once upon a time, there was a scrawny boy who worked for a Prince…”

“Good,” Harry tightens his arms around him, caging him in. “Tell me more about this Prince.”

Louis fights his quivering lip, brings his eyes back to Harry’s face, so close to his. Harry always brings him back. “He’s not very skilled with a sword. He’s pretty annoying when—”

Harry shoves at his shoulder and pouts. “I wanted—”

“I wasn’t finished!” Louis protests. “The Prince is also handsome and has more heart than the entire kingdom combined. I guess. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like a good guy,” Harry says, pleased. “Are you into that kind of thing?”

“Maybe,” Louis says, but his smile confirms the opposite. “Anyway, one day the Prince does something irrational and the scrawny boy is forced to chase after him. He saves the day. The Prince is a mess until he gets to him.”

Harry’s jaw is tense, eyes squeezed tight as a harsh gust of wind disturbs their momentary peace.

“Then what?” Harry asks.

Another snowflake drops down to Harry’s eyebrow. Louis lets himself brush it away, then lets his hand linger. Now that he knows his time is limited, he regrets ever letting himself hold back from touching Harry. He doesn’t know how many more chances he’ll have. “The Prince scares the scrawny boy—”

“How about we call him brave instead of scrawny?” Harry cuts in, eyes closing as Louis’ thumb drifts to his eyelid, the veins a paler purple than ever before.

“No. Because he isn’t brave. He’s a coward,” Louis admits.

“How?” Harry asks. His voice is soft.

Instead of answering, Louis kisses him.

His weak heartbeat stutters more than it did during their first kiss. Harry’s lips are cold, even to Louis, but they feel like the opening gates to heaven. Harry’s hand drifts from his side up to his jaw, his mouth like Louis’ own personal guiding light.

Heaven is Harry’s hair tickling his neck as he shifts to seal their mouths together tighter. It’s the warmth that spreads through him as he freezes to death, prolonging the inescapable outcome. It’s the way Harry lets out the sweetest sound he's ever heard when Louis pulls him closer, the displaced calm that washes through him as they hurdle towards the fizzling end.

It’s the gentlest kiss Louis has ever had and the only kiss that has ever made him cry.

Their lips protest as they break apart, the icy cold reluctant to allow them to separate.

“How does the story end?” Harry gasps, pressing his thumb to the hinge of Louis’ jaw as their foreheads stick together.

“Happily,” Louis smiles through his tears. “Happy fairy tales always end with a kiss. And this isn’t a tragedy. We were—we _are_ a love story.”

Harry’s expression switches from tortured to blissful. “I love you too.”

If it weren't freezing, Louis would melt at those words.

“I don’t want to die,” Louis admits. “Especially not now. Now that I’ve had you once. That’s cruel.”

“It isn’t scary,” Harry tells him. “Dying. Before the potion was finished, I had a moment. I thought it was a dream at the time, but I know it was real. Death isn’t scary. It was light. I almost didn’t want to come back.”

Louis can’t feel his body. “You came back? You _died?”_

“I had to come back. It was—hard to describe. Everything was like the sun, but brighter. But then I saw you and me, from above. But I saw that you were holding onto me. And I saw your face, and your expression, and you looked so afraid that I turned away from it. And I could feel myself again. And your fingers—warm—were touching me. But it wasn’t scary. Nothing about it was scary but seeing your face. And now that we’re together, and we’re going to die together, it’s going to be even less scary."

“What about my mum? And my sisters?” Louis asks, fingers shaking desperately. “They’ll never see me again. They might not ever know what happened to me.”

“They’ll see you in time. They’ll see you again one day,” Harry promises, his nose bumping against Louis’. “I’m sorry it's going to happen next to the person whose fault it is you’re here in the first place, though.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head, his breaths coming out short and challenging. He’s so cold. “I came in after you myself. And if I’m dying next to someone, I’m glad it’s someone I love.”

Through the fear, through the absolute terror, is truth.

And then, as gentle as the snowflakes falling around them, Louis drifts.

Everything is white.


	8. Meeting the Lumberjack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is over two months later and a relatively short update.
> 
> Tbh I don't have an excuse other than graduation and traveling and writer's block.
> 
> This is the chapter where they get a bit ~frisky~ but it's really very PG. This is also where I feel the need to clarify that I originally envisioned Louis as a demi character but failed, so if he reads a little bit inexperienced/ace spec/wide eyed, that is why.

_~_

_“What?” Blaire asked. Though she had truly grown to despise her sister for being everything she couldn’t, there was also still a small glimmer of hope inside that one day they could reconcile. Forever felt permanent.  
_

_“I don’t know what happened to you,” Anne whispered. “You used to be so good. And then you changed.”_

_Anne lowered her sword and ran her fingers over her stomach. “Now that I’m pregnant, I don’t feel safe with you so close to the castle. So close to my_ baby. _Especially with him.”_

_“I’m going to be an aunt?” Blaire asked, anger temporarily forgotten._

_“You will never touch her,” Anne snarled. “I’ve seen what you do to beautiful things, and my daughter is too precious for your fingers to come into contact with.”_

_“I can kill both of you in one spell! And your future child! Blaire deserves the crown!” Simon yelled._

_At this, Des woke up. His eyes grew wide and frightened as he took in the scene._

_“You’ve ruined Blaire,” Anne said. “She’s not fit to rule. And neither are you. A good, honest person would never learn magic to kill.”_

_Simon laughed at that, putting that exact brand of magic to the test._

_~_

**Meeting the Lumberjack**

~

Louis stirs, snowflakes swirling behind his eyes. A distant conversation sounds, muffled.

“—as soon as I pulled you out from under the snow, Your Highness. My heart stopped. I thought you were both made of ice,” an unfamiliar voice states.

Louis blinks his eyes open, fingers running over unfamiliar material. His eyes focusing on an unfamiliar, crackling fireplace. The clean scent surrounding him unfamiliar.

Everything unfamiliar, except Harry’s answering voice, deep and sure.

“Thank you,” it carries through a half-closed door. Louis throws an unfamiliar blanket from his body and stands, but momentarily goes dizzy. He leans against the arm of the sofa as he regains his balance, his mouth dry, his body weak.

He wobbles through the door, his arms raised to clutch at the walls as he goes.

“Harry,” he mumbles once he’s through. Hazy.

Harry’s sat at a small table beside a strong-looking stranger in plaid, steaming tea and a potted bowl placed before him.

“Harry,” Louis repeats, trying to get someone’s attention. His voice is small, too quiet. Louis knocks at the wall instead.

“Oh, good, Louis’s awake!” the stranger smiles in relief. He stands and hurries over to Louis, wraps an arm around his waist, and leads him to the table. He forces him into a sturdy chair.

“I’ve made soup and tea,” the stranger continues, his voice clear and matter-of-fact. Harry’s hand finds Louis’ leg under the table and he gives a weak squeeze. Louis feels like he can breathe a bit easier.

The stranger bustles around, and then sets a cup and yet _another_ potted bowl in front of Louis. “While it’s hot, please.”

Louis blinks, groggy and lost. He turns to Harry as Liam hands him a spoon, the only thing in the room that makes sense.

“Who’s that?” Louis asks. “Are we _Over?”_

Harry shakes his head. “No, but we’re close.”

“I’m so sorry, but could you lower your voices a bit, please?” the stranger whispers. His nervous eyes flit over to Harry, his voice timid. “Sophia’s trying to get the baby to sleep.”

“Are you a Noble?” Louis questions him. “Who are you? Who’s Sophia?”

“My name is Liam,” the stranger answers. “Sophia is my wife. And we’re nowhere near Nobles.”

“But the pottery. You have two bowls,” Louis points out.

“There are more in the cabinet,” Liam tells him. “They’re not a luxury on this side of the forest.”

Louis drops his forehead to the tabletop, eyes closing. “What’s happened? What are we doing here, Harry?”

“We’re trying to figure that out, too. Liam’s memory seems to be a bit spotted.”

Liam nods, wringing his hands together. “I remember walking outside to close my shed during the storm, but the next thing I knew I was digging into the snow without gloves. Thought for a minute I’d somehow killed someone when I saw a foot, but then I realized there were two people. And you were alive. I recognized Prince Harry straightaway.”

Harry’s fingers tighten on Louis’ thigh. “He carried us back to his house—”

“If you could call this a house. Of course, it’s nothing compared to what you’re probably used to,” Liam interrupts. His eyes widen immediately after, regretful.

“Liam,” Harry says. Through the obvious fatigue, he seems to sit up straighter. His voice mellows, lowering to the tone he uses on star struck villagers in the street and shy children on the days he comes to help with lessons at the school. “You have a lovely home. I’ll be forever in debt to you for digging us out of the snow. And for your hospitality. I haven’t been this warm in weeks.”

It seems to be too much for Liam. He stands abruptly. “More tea, Your Highness? Or soup?”

Louis has hardly touched his bowl, but Harry nods. “Yes, please. And call me Harry.”

Liam’s mouth twitches as he grabs Harry’s cup. “I’ll try.”

Harry turns his attention back to Louis. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Louis admits. He brings a spoonful of soup to his lips, but he’s so hungry he’s unsure he’d be able to keep it down. “But better than before.”

Liam pulls a pot of water from the oven. He refills Harry’s cup, then bustles from the room with a quick _be right back._

“He found us on top of a pile of ant manure,” Harry answers Louis’ confused, lingering eyes.

Louis’ mind flashes back to the moments before they drifted, to the gravity of the conversation they’d had there. The declarations they made, the way Harry’s lips felt pressed to his, the story Louis told.

It was on top of a pile of ant poop.

Louis smiles into his soup, blushing a bit at the memory. Thankfully, Harry’s smiling too.

Louis wants to ask, wants to know whether Harry still means everything he said when he thought there was no turning back.

Before he gains the energy and courage, a woman with deep bags beneath her eyes enters the room.

“Hello,” she greets them as she pulls a pot from the cabinet. “How’re we both feeling?”

“Soph,” Liam hurries in after her, looking embarrassed. His voice is a terribly loud whisper. “That’s Prince Harry!”

“And?” she asks. She ladles soup into her bowl, rubbing at her eye with her free hand. “What’s wrong with asking the Prince how he’s feeling when he’s our guest?”

Liam’s eyes widen at her tone.

Harry’s hand is still gripping Louis’ thigh.

“I’m feeling very well, thank you. The soup was delicious,” Harry smiles at Sophia.

“Don’t thank me,” she says. She drops her bowl onto the table and settles in. “I haven’t cooked a thing since Arianna was born. I feed the baby, Liam feeds me.”

Liam stands at the fringe of the kitchen, hugging himself. “The bath should be ready once I pull the pot from the fireplace. It’s a small tub, but my last trade was with a fairy. She gave me special soap that makes you smell like a pine tree all over with just a few drops. It’ll get the job done.”

“Thank you,” Harry begins, but Liam cuts him off again, looking more embarrassed than ever.

“I’m so sorry, but it won’t be anything like—”

“Darling,” Sophia interrupts, not unkindly. “Prince Harry was nearly frozen to death in a pile of ant poop when you found him. I don’t think he has any reason to complain.”

Liam, looking scandalized, hurries from the room.

“You’ll have to excuse my husband,” Sophia continues, yawning. “He’s always terribly self-conscious around guests. And we’ve never had a guest so important.”

“Do you have guests often?” Harry asks. “How does that work? Since you live here in the forest.”

Feeling a bit stronger with food in his system, Louis adds in, “Why _do_ you live here?”

Sophia stares into her soup, her expression grim.

_“Over_ is a terrible place,” Sophia finally says. “It’s terrible here as well, of course, but it is what it is.”

“You’re from _Over,_ then?” Louis presses.

“Yes. Both mine and Liam’s families are potters. So you can understand why we had to get out.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, leaning forward. “What’s wrong with pottery?”

“Trade is impossible because of the communication ban,” Sophia laments, her cheeks an angry red. “Three quarters of our land made a living off of pottery trade before Blaire came into power. There’s not much use in trying to sell to people trying to sell the exact same thing.”

“How does that make living here any better than living _Over?_ I don’t imagine fairies are flipping over themselves to buy pots,” Louis says. 

Sophia sends him a terrifying glare.

“Liam cuts wood now. But when we were eighteen, we were able to sneak through the forest to trade with your land. It was exciting for a bit, romantic and dangerous, us against the world, feeling reckless and young, but it didn’t end well. We were banished from _Over_ as soon as Blaire heard about our business. Liam’s still got a scar on his back from the whip.”

Harry shakes his head. “Terrible. That’s terrible.”

“What’s worse is that our families had no idea what happened to us for months. We couldn’t go _Over,_ and nobody but Liam and I were brave enough to cross into the forest. Liam had to make a deal with the Cowell to allow our families to safely come visit. A deal that _did not_ come cheap. He still has the scars from that as well.”

Louis’ ankle sears. Frozen in place beside him, Harry nods.

“We’ve wanted to move our families to your kingdom for years, but the Cowell can’t promise protection throughout the entire forest, even for a price. We’ve stayed because we didn’t want to abandon them completely, and because they need the trade money.”

“I didn’t realize the situation was so dire,” Harry’s voice cracks.

“Once Arianna is a little bit older, Liam and I are finally going to move. Her safety is more important than monthly visits by her Aunts. And, honestly, if I had to talk myself away from a Biddingbird one more time, I think I’d go mad,” Sophia rolls her eyes.

Harry reaches out to touch Sophia’s hand. His face looks pained. “You’re always welcome in our kingdom. When you’re ready to make the move, I’ll be sure there’s a house waiting for you.”

Sophia smiles, but her eyes are doubtful. “That’s very kind of you, Prince. But those are big words to say as someone who’s all the way over here.”

“Well, when we get back,” Harry promises. “Then.”

Moments later, Liam returns, only slightly out of breath. “The washroom doesn’t have a lock, but Soph and I won’t come running in. It shares a wall to our bedroom, though, so if there’s anything you need, you can just knock.”

“Well, then. I think I’m going to head to bed,” Sophia adds. She stands and stretches, then glances down to her bowl and murmurs about dishes in the morning.

She kisses Liam’s cheek and throws a wave over her shoulder, and then she’s gone.

“I’ve left towels in the washroom. And we have a sofa and a spare bedroom for sleeping, I’m so sorry—”

“Liam,” Harry interrupts, smiling. “Please stop apologizing. This is wonderful. Thank you.”

“I just wish I had more to offer you,” Liam says, wringing his hands again. “It’s odd to think: A _Prince!_ In my cottage. My mum won’t believe it.”

Harry coughs.

“Would you like me to show you where the washroom is? I’m feeling a bit exhausted, so I’d like to head to bed soon. While Arianna is sleeping. And don’t worry about your dishes,” Liam adds on as Louis stands with his bowl in hand. “I’ll get to them in the morning.”

“I remember where it is from earlier,” Harry reassures him, dismissive. “I’ll show Louis, too. Thank you for everything. Good night.”

Liam’s fingers twitch, but he jerks out a nod. “Good night Prince. And to you as well, Louis.”

He dashes the other way. Neither Harry nor Louis speaks until they hear the sound of a door closing.

“Nice guy, but a bit of a worrier,” Harry scoots closer to Louis. “Are you feeling any better now?”

Louis thinks it over, swallows. Clenches his fists as Harry rests his hand over his thigh again.

“Define better,” he says.

Harry doesn’t answer. He leans in close and presses his forehead to Louis’ temple, his lips to Louis’ ear. “Not dying. That’s good enough for me right now.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m not dying at this moment. You might want to check back later, though.” He shies away from Harry’s mouth, too much at once. He's still trying to wrap his head around _alive._ “Once I sleep. I think I could sleep for a year.”

“Bath first,” Harry mumbles. “Ant poop.”

He stands and offers Louis his hand. Louis stares, hesitating to take it because—it’s a confirmation.

He can see it in Harry’s eyes and he can feel it in his pumping heart and he can sense the room caving in on him.

But the pressure eases as soon as his palm is placed in Harry’s, as soon as he feels Harry’s fingers wrapping around his. Harry wears a small smile as he leads them to an unfamiliar door, one finger to his lips.

“Shh, they’re close,” Harry whispers. He pushes open the door and ushers Louis through.

There’s a moment of hesitation as soon as the door clicks shut behind Harry. Louis stands with his knees knocking, his eyes glued to Harry’s as they face each other.

He’s trying to get his vocal cords to cooperate so he can ask if Harry wants to go first, but—

There are no words as Harry reaches forward and pulls off Louis’ shirt, as his eyes rake over his dirty skin. Louis returns the favor, a new, adrenaline-charged feeling settling in his chest. He’s seen Harry without clothes on too many times to count, but he can feel that it’s completely different right now.

It’s different, and Louis can feel his breathing going ragged when he thinks about the possibilities.

They reluctantly separate as Harry's shirt flutters to the floor. Moments later, Harry trips as he pulls off his trousers and then immediately goes off in a naked search of the fairy soap.

It's a bit anticlimactic. Maybe it's not that different.

Louis doesn’t mean to stare, but he thinks he’s probably allowed to. Harry looks good, as always, but Louis can see all of the differences that have built up since they left for the forest. Harry’s arms are less pronounced than before, his ribs protruding in a way that’d be worrisome in any other situation.

“You should’ve eaten more soup,” Louis hopes his voice is steady.

Harry looks him up and down. “You too.”

Louis stands frozen, hyperaware of their unequal state of undress as Harry watches him.

“Are you going to get in?” Louis asks. “It’ll get cold.”

“You should get in first,” Harry tells him. “I always get the bath first.”

Louis’ fingers shake as he loosens his trousers, nodding. _It’s just Harry,_ he reminds himself.

It isn’t that he feels self-conscious. Undressing together just holds new potential—potential he’s never truly followed through with.

Louis’ trousers and eyes drop to the floor in one breath. He kicks off his mud-crusted socks and dips a toe into the hot water.

“Feels really good,” Louis comments softly as he climbs in. He presses his back against the edge of the tub, relaxing into the water.

Harry watches, unmoving. “I bet.”

“Did you—” Louis coughs, uncertain. _It’s just Harry_. “Did you want to get in too? Before the water gets cold?”

Harry nods and grabs the bottle from the counter. His eyes are intense as he climbs in across from Louis, his knees raised high as they slot together as best they can at the angle.

The water level rises, spilling over the edge and plummeting to the floor. It makes a splash in the hollow of the room, loud and echoing.

Louis closes his eyes.

~

“Did you mean it?” Harry asks.

Louis blinks awake. His fingertips aren’t yet pruned and the water is still warm.

“Mean what? I’ve said a lot of things,” Louis’ voice is quiet.

“About us being a love story. And _not_ a tragedy,” Harry tells him. He looks defiant and hopeful at the same time, like a teenager asking for permission.

Harry’s legs are bracketing Louis’ and Harry’s fingertips are grazing across his kneecaps.

Louis meant it. But he also knows a bit about unpredictability.

“We’re not at the end of the story anymore. I don’t know our genre,” he says sadly.

“You still want a love story, though. Right?” Harry asks. Though intense, his eyes are also fearful.

Louis doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. I always mean what I say to you.”

“Okay,” Harry says. He bites his lip before a smile overtakes him. He breathes out a sigh of relief and seems to sink further into the water.

“Okay,” Louis repeats.

“If that’s the case, then I’m turning around,” Harry says. He struggles a bit to press his back to Louis’ chest without spilling more water, but they’re pressed together moments later with minimal spillage.

And Louis immediately realizes he is moments away from embarrassing himself.

“Feels… really good,” Louis repeats his words from earlier, tongue-tied. Harry’s skin is too soft and smooth against his bare inner thighs. Harry’s hair is tickling his cheeks and his shoulder blades are curved against Louis’ chest.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and prays silently. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

In the safety of the bath, with warm water soothing him and no immediate danger, Louis should feel more thoroughly relaxed than he has for well over a month. But he doesn’t. He’s all too aware of his quick breathing, of his pounding heart, of the fact that Harry more than likely can _feel_ that he’s getting hard along his lower back.

Harry doesn’t seem to be as bothered. He turns the bottle of fairy soap over in his hands, observing it.

“If I had anything to offer right now, I’d bet that this was made by Zayn and the fairies took all of the credit,” Harry holds it out.

“I wouldn’t argue with you,” Louis responds, his voice shocking him. It’s deeper, more gravelly than before.

Harry pulls the top from the bottle, spilling a bit into the water as he goes. The liquid hisses at the first contact and turns from purple to green, then spreads.

“Definitely Zayn, then,” Harry grins, sinking lower into the water. Louis stifles a groan as his slick skin rubs against him in the best way.

Harry reemerges, his wet hair plastered to his skin and his eyelashes dark, sticking together. He leans back into Louis, smiling and seemingly unconcerned by his obvious erection.

Louis noses into his neck, breathing deep. “You really _do_ smell like pine needles.”

Making a quick decision, he wraps his arms around Harry and ducks them both below the water.

They come back up almost immediately, Harry coughing and laughing at the same time. “Did you just try to take me down with you?"

“Shh!” Louis slaps a wet hand over Harry’s mouth. “Liam and Sophia are right next door! We don’t want to wake them up.”

Harry turns in Louis’ arms, eyes glued to his lips. “You really do smell good.”

Without hesitation, Harry closes the gap between them. This kiss is just as gentle as their past two, but with added intent, without trying to outrace time. A little more wet.

“Taste good too,” Harry whispers as their kiss breaks, licking his lips after. “Like Christmas trees.”

Louis grins, his nose trailing across Harry’s ear. “How do you know what a Christmas tree tastes like?”

“How don’t you?” Harry counters, moving his hand to Louis’ thigh.

Louis freezes, closing his eyes in shame at the way his body immediately responds to his touch. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Harry asks, lips to Louis’ neck.

Louis’ cheeks turn pink. “I’ve never really done this before.”

“Done what?” Harry asks, only half distracted.

He can’t look Harry in the eye. “You know as well as I do that I’ve never brought anyone back home.”

Harry doesn’t immediately answer. His fingers rub up and down Louis’ thigh as he thinks it over.

“This is exciting,” Harry whispers. “I’ve never been the one to teach you things.”

“You’ve taught me lots,” Louis says.

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing _important._ I can spew useless facts all day, but you’ve always known so much more than me. So many more practical experiences.”

“That isn’t true,” Louis argues, but Harry tangles their fingers together and brings their hands below the water. He runs Louis’ fingers across his skin, along his abs, slowly sinking lower.

“I can be the experienced one tonight,” Harry murmurs into Louis’ collarbone.

Louis’ toes curl in anticipation. There are fireworks in his brain and belly.

But they pause as Harry stops their hands midway to their final destination, smirking. “You know, a pretty boy once made me promise to be careful about consent …”

Louis’ fingers are itching to reach out, to touch. “I’m probably much more excited about this than you are, honestly.”

“Doubtful,” Harry says, but he guides Louis’ hands lower, lower, until he’s gripping Harry’s full length in his hand.

Louis touches him with his chin hooked over Harry’s shoulder, their cheeks pressed together as Louis clenches his jaw in arousal. He’s surprised to find that it isn’t difficult to pick up on what to do, what feels good. Harry is responsive and knows what feels best to him, wrapping his own fingers around Louis’ to help him when he goes off track. It doesn’t happen often, though—the angle is similar to that of when Louis does to this himself, in bed with Harry only separated by the thin castle wall.

Harry’s vocal about what he likes, what he wants, and how much he wants it, which forces Louis to slap a hand over his mouth, conscious of their close neighbors.

When Harry reaches his peak, he’s also very vocal, so Louis never removes his hand. Harry seems to approve. He even seems to like it.

And Louis, hard and aching, strung out from the excitement, from the newness of the situation and Harry’s skin surrounding him everywhere and the high of somehow being alive, follows only moments later.

~

Saying goodbye to Liam proves to be difficult.

“Banana bread! Soph, where’s the banana bread?” Liam stresses from the kitchen. “They need carbohydrates!”

“You already gave them the bread,” Sophia reminds him. Arianna gurgles in agreement from her hip.

Louis double checks that his bag is packed and his sword is secured along his belt before he deems them ready to go.

“Thank you for everything,” Louis says to the small family. “I’ve never felt so clean or well fed.”

“I second that,” Harry agrees. “And, Sophia, I meant what I said before. There’s always a place for the three of you in our kingdom.”

After hugs and a kiss to the top of Arianna’s baby head, they’re Back in the forest.

Notable differences include their washed and patched clothes, a much fuller bag, and a reduction in space between them.

After a few hours of walking, the trees become sparser. It’s dark enough to settle for the night and Louis stifles a yawn.

“How far did Liam say we were?” Louis wonders aloud. “Less than a two-day—”

“Louis!” Harry pulls his hand from Louis’ and points to the distance. “That’s the castle! That’s _Over!_ We’re close!”

Louis squints and follows Harry’s pointer finger. Far and above the trees, windows of light shine through the darkness.

“We’re almost there,” Harry sounds on the verge of tears. “I can’t believe one of those lights might be Gemma’s.”

“Or Niall’s,” Louis breathes, shocked. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel possible.

~

Harry keeps watch first that night, his fingers running across Louis’ scalp as he rests with his head in Harry’s lap.

“What’re we going to do when we actually get there?” Louis whispers.

“How different can one castle be?” Harry attempts a joke.

Louis turns over, looking up into Harry’s eyes. “I think I was so excited that we almost made it out of here that I forgot that’s only half the challenge.”

“Why don’t we think of it that we’ve already made it through half, rather than we’ve _only_ made it through half?” Harry suggests.

“Harry,” Louis tugs at the hem of his shirt. “I’m serious. How are we going to save them?”

“We’re not even _Over_ yet. I can’t say for sure _how,_ but I do know that if there’s anyone I think is capable of doing it, it’s the two of us. Together.”

“Really?” Louis asks.

“Of course,” Harry smiles down at him. “I really like you, Louis—”

“You can say the other l word. I still remember,” Louis interrupts with a smile of his own.

Harry leans forward to kiss Louis on the nose in answer.

“I know it’s not a sure thing, but I know that we’re going to make it. We’re going to save Gemma. I really, really think we can. And Niall. If this whole thing has taught me anything, it’s that we’re a good team. A _great_ team. And that I can do so much more than I used to think I was capable of when we're together.”

“We make each other better,” Louis agrees. "You make me better, for sure."

“I don’t want to go back to the way things were when we get back home,” Harry tells him, his voice shaking with emotion. “I don’t want to pretend I’ll think about marrying Cara. I want to tell my mum that I’m in love with you and that I—I want a future with you, not her." 

Louis’ heart constricts. It’s a statement and a question all in one, but Louis couldn’t deny Harry anything. He wants the same thing, wants it just as badly, can’t imagine ever feeling anything half as intense as what he feels for Harry for anyone else.

“I want that too,” Louis confirms. There’s a worry in the back of his mind, a worry that transcends that of crossing _Over,_ that reaches all the way across the forest, but Louis pushes it back. “I want that a lot.”

Louis drifts off to smiles, to thoughts of how safe he feels with Harry’s arms around him, and thinks maybe the forest isn’t truly as terrible as he’d always thought.

~

Louis wakes up to blue eyes staring down at him.

Louis yells, causing the person to yelp and step away from both him and Harry, somehow still sleeping beside him.

Louis fell asleep while on watch.

Cursing, he scrambles to stand, grabbing his sword and clutching it tightly in his hand. He finally gets a good look at the too-close stranger and his eyebrows immediately pull together. Vague memories surface, ones that Louis can’t place.

“I _know_ you,” Louis says. “We’ve met before. How do I know you?”

The stranger shakes his head. “No. We’ve never met.”

The longer Louis stares, the more familiar the man seems to become.

“Yes we have. I remember your face. We’ve met,” Louis insists. He knows they have.

“No. No, we haven’t,” the stranger says.

“Wait,” Louis’ eyes harden, the stark memory falling into place. “I know exactly who you are.”

“You do?” the stranger’s eyes widen.

“You work for the Cowell,” Louis spits at him, raising his sword. “You were there the night I made a deal with him. You were on his side!”

The stranger cowers backwards, tripping and falling. He raises his arms to cover his face. “I’m not on his side!”

“Then explain to me why you work with the Cowell,” Louis challenges him, not dropping his sword. He’s terrified, the half-formed thoughts of what this stranger could have been planning to do to him—to _Harry—_ before he was caught, proving to be too much to bear. “Why would you work for the Cowell if you aren’t a fan of dark magic?”

“Be careful with that sword, Louis,” the man flinches away. “It could end up badly for the both of us.”

“I don’t think killing one half of the Cowell clan would do badly for anyone, actually,” Louis says, chest heaving. He’s not sure he’d have the courage to go through with swinging, but it’s unnerving that the stranger somehow still remembers his name. “Give me one reason you think I should let you live!”

The stranger’s eyes are wet. He points to sleeping Harry with a sniffle, his finger shaking. “The ingredients. He’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”

Louis lowers his sword halfway, taken aback, but still suspicious. “What were the ingredients you gave to us?”

“The sap and the flower,” the stranger answers. “I’m not lying. I’m not—I’m _not_ like the Cowell.”

Louis doesn’t lower his guard. He still doesn’t trust the stranger, doesn’t understand why he’d aid in saving Harry’s life. “Why are you working with the Cowell if you’re not evil? Are you spying on us? Have you been watching us this whole time?”

“I—” the stranger looks to the side, his eyes wide. “I can’t—I need to go.”

And with that, the stranger stands and staggers away.

It takes Louis a few minutes to feel comfortable lowering his sword.

Harry snores on.


	9. Out of the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for voyeuristic fairies and quite a bit of violence (from a close observer) and blood in this one!

_~_

_Anne’s eyes snapped to Blaire’s, terror and panic clear as day, and Blaire made a split second decision._

_“Stop!” she yelled, throwing herself at Simon, purposefully ruining his concentration. “We can’t! You can’t! She’s pregnant!”_

_Simon pushed her to the side. “I’ve been waiting to do this for years!”_

_At this, Blaire felt her heart clench._

_“Years? Before we even met?”_

_“Of course,” Simon brushed her off. “You were the easiest to get to.”_

_“Was our love never real?” Blaire asked._

_“Of course not.”_

_Without another glance, Simon began to chant again. A surge of anger ran through Blaire’s veins, so powerful that she was able to intercept Simon’s killing curse._

_“You don’t want them dead?”_

_Blaire felt the last drop of goodness drain from her body as a final tear escaped. “I want you dead much, much more.”_

_Simon laughed._

_“You’re not nearly powerful enough to kill me.”_

_“I know I’m not now. But one day I might be.”_

_Simon was undisturbed. “I could kill all of you right now if I tried.”_

_Anne spoke up. “Even if you kill all three of us, there’s no royal blood in you. The commoners would never accept you as their leader.”_

_Simon seemed to understand the truth of her words._

_“I’ll spare your lives if you give me full control of the forest.”_

 

_~_

**Out of the Woods**

~

Just as Liam advised, the river flows through the forest like a vein, connecting the three segments of the kingdom together. Harry and Louis follow it, _Over’s_ castle getting closer and closer, until they reach what appears to be the edge of the trees, the edge of the forest.

The air feels thinner, less weighed down by magic. Louis can breathe easier.

“It’s there,” Harry whispers from his side. “We’re here. Gemma and Niall—they’re here too.”

Louis squints into the darkness. The unmistakable outline of the castle is a bit further in the distance. “Should we explore the area a bit? Before we try to get in?”

“While we’d still be hidden. Good idea,” Harry nods.

Louis’ heart begins to race. The unreachable destination is finally within grasp. “We should keep to the shadows. The archers are always on higher alert once the moon’s out.”

“Yeah. Good,” Harry agrees.

Neither makes a move. Louis’ feet are frozen in fear.

“Or maybe… maybe we should get a good night’s sleep first. And go for it in the morning. When we’re well rested,” Louis suggests.

“That’s a good idea,” Harry nods. “That’s smarter.”

~ 

“We can’t. The smoke would look out of place,” Louis tells Harry. The wind blows a chill their way, so Louis tugs Liam’s blanket tighter around the two of them. “But my mum’s blanket is in the bag, if you wanted that.”

Teeth chattering, Harry nods.

He grabs the bag and digs through, then tears the blanket from it. Louis feels something solid hit his leg in the process.

“Watch it,” Louis complains, rubbing at his thigh as he pulls the offensive object from the ground. “This yours?”

“What?” Harry asks, tightening the blanket around himself. “No. I lost everything with Sam. Oh… Sam.”

Harry frowns and drops his head to Louis’ shoulder.

“I remember this. This was Zayn’s. I think it’s a healing ointment,” Louis turns it over in his hands.

“I cut my finger on a twig earlier,” Harry pouts. He gives Louis dramatic eyes, ones that he can’t resist.

“You’re a baby,” Louis rolls his eyes. Nonetheless, he pops the top from the bottle and dips his finger in.

“Thick,” Harry comments.

Louis spreads the potion across Harry’s cut. Nothing fizzles green or purple.

“Weird,” Louis says.

“The texture,” Harry gasps, blushing deeply as he sits up straighter.

“What’s wrong?” Louis laughs. “What’s got you embarrassed?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m not _embarrassed._ It’s just funny because it—it feels like what I’ve always used when—with my—when we needed—”

“What are you talking about?” Louis asks.

“During sex. It feels like what we used to make the slide easier,” Harry finally tells him, still red.

Oh.

Louis blinks.

_Oh._

He can’t help that it sends his mind reeling. Slide. Slide. _Slide._

“Did you do the sliding or were you the slidee?” he asks, too curious for his own good.

Harry barks out a laugh but quickly seems to realize Louis meant it as a genuine question. “It didn’t matter to me, honestly. I always had a good time no matter what.”

“I could tell,” Louis murmurs.

It feels ten degrees warmer outside. Things have escalated quickly.

“Were you listening in on it, then?” Harry asks, voice softer.

“No,” Louis denies, even though he kind of did. “I’m not creepy. I was just doing as you asked, making sure nobody—”

“I used to pretend you were listening,” Harry admits. “It made it better. Hotter. Thinking you were listening, that you liked to hear me like that.”

“Even though you were with someone else the whole time?” Louis asks, now breathless. The thought of it sends a thrill through him.

“Every time,” Harry nods. “I’d sometimes imagine it was you I was with too. Often, actually.”

Louis’ limbs feel prickly. He shifts, trying to relax.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” Harry asks, his face close to Louis’. “That I’d be thinking of you during?”

“That’d be a bit—” Louis hesitates, eyes drawn to Harry’s lips as he thinks it over. A truth tumbles from his mouth, one he’s tried to block out as much as possible. “I’ve thought about you before too.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot to the sky. “Really?”

“Just once,” Louis clarifies. “I felt guilty about it after and I never did it again.”

“Give me the story, Lou,” Harry’s fingers find his beneath the blankets. “You never have to feel guilty over me. Honestly, I love this. I can prove it.”

Harry brings their fingers closer to his center, to where Louis can feel his growing arousal. It gives Louis a spike in confidence.

“It was—it was kind of silly,” he admits. “It was after a night by the stream. Nick and I had been kissing behind a tree and—”

“Wait, I don’t want to hear about you and Nick,” Harry interrupts. “I thought this was about me.”

Louis lets out a soft laugh at Harry’s insolence. “Patience, love.”

Harry pouts. “I always knew you had a thing for Nick. I could tell by how you’d always spend time with him after hours.”

“It was less of a thing and more a _we both like boys and get a bit handsy when drinking,_ but we never did anything serious. And I spent time with _all_ my friends after hours,” Louis tells him.

Harry nods, still sour. “If you say so.”

“I literally sat outside the door while you had sex and heard everything, so there’s no reason to be upset,” Louis fires back.

“I know,” Harry looks apologetic and very, very young. “I just love you a lot, is all. And I thought this was getting sexy and now I’ve ruined everything.”

Louis’ heart melts a bit.

“You didn’t ruin anything, H. Where was I?”

“Kissing Nick behind a tree,” Harry says, his voice flat.

“Yeah,” Louis remembers. He lies back, pulls Harry down beside him, and tangles their fingers together between their chests.

“So I was a little bit hot and bothered already. I try to sneak back into my room, but I’m also tipsy and knock into my bedside table, making so much noise. You come rushing in with no shirt on. And you were wearing these red, silky shorts that were just—” Louis bites his lip at the memory, groaning.

“I think I remember that night,” Harry says. “I couldn’t sleep because I thought you were with him. And then I saw your neck when I came in, and I knew for sure.”

“Are you going to let me finish the story or not?” Louis asks, nudging him with his nose. “You said you wanted a story. Why are you so intent on interrupting all the stories you ask me to tell?”

Harry nods, keeping their noses pressed together. “Sorry. Love the story. Especially now that we’re getting to the interesting part. Now that _I’m_ there.”

Louis loves him, loves his ability to joke with danger waiting for them in the morning. Louis wants to kiss him.

He does. And then he continues.

“So you come rushing in with these tiny shorts. I’m already half-hard, and then you tell me I have a leaf in my hair and you come pick it out for me. You turn to leave, but I get—I just wanted to feel close to someone, I think. Nick was always there to drink, and then to kiss me after, but his company always left me wanting more. Not even necessarily from him, just more.”

“You told me I looked tense,” Harry remembers. “That you’d give me a massage.”

“I thought you looked really beautiful. And I was drunk, which always makes me a little bolder. So you sat on the edge of my bed and I got right behind you and massaged your shoulders. And the whole time I was just thinking to myself how much I wanted to _feel_ instead of massage. Looking back, it probably wasn’t very good for you.”

“It felt really good,” Harry shakes his head. “Your thighs were touching my sides the whole time. I remember I couldn’t do much more than focus on how much I just wanted to touch them. I wanted to turn around and pin you to the bed. I thought about it.”

“I might have let you,” Louis confesses. “I felt wild that night. You made me wild.”

“What happened next?” Harry asks.

“Before I finished the massage, I smelled your hair. You’d had a bath the day before, so you still smelled so good, like soap. And then that made me think about how you looked stepping into the bath and—this is where I began to feel creepy—but I got hard. Really, really, really hard.”

“It’s not creepy, Lou. You can’t help how you reacted. I was hard too,” Harry says. “Then what?”

“So I flipped over onto my stomach and told you that was the end. And you stood and stretched and I stared at your back dimples as you walked away. And at your red shorts—” Louis has to cut himself off again to breathe. “And as soon as you said goodnight and the door clicked shut behind you, my hand was a blur. I don’t think I was quiet. And it was all your fault.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” Harry tells him. “I just regret not turning around.”

“It’s probably best that you didn’t. I didn’t realize I loved you yet. It probably wouldn’t have ended well or been easy the next morning.”

“Maybe it’s better this way. That it happened now, instead,” Harry agrees.

“What about you?” Louis asks. He slides his leg between Harry’s. “What did you think about when—when you thought about me? While you were in bed.”

Harry moves a hand to Louis’ waist, squeezing. “What _didn’t_ I think of?”

“An example?” Louis presses.

Harry licks his lips, mind reeling. “I thought about us in the forest a lot. It was all in my head, so I’d imagine you taking me in here, and then when we’d try to leave you couldn’t see. But this time, it was because you wanted _me_ , and not the other way around.”

Louis almost laughs, but he’s too intrigued.

“What would I want from you?” Louis asks. “What did we have to do before we could leave?”

“I could…” Harry trails off, fingers dancing across Louis’ thigh beneath the blanket. He hitches it up around his waist, aligning their hips. “I could show you. If you want me to.”

Louis’ breath leaves all at once. “I want to do a lot.”

“Okay. I can think of—something I’ve dreamed of,” Harry whispers.

“What’ve you dreamed of?” Louis asks, drunk off the feeling of Harry’s eyes on him. He presses closer, feels Harry hard against him. Loves it.

Harry has a crease between his brows, nerves apparent. Nervous because of Louis.

“When I didn’t know anything yet, after my first accidental orgasm. I just kind of imagined what I thought would feel nice,” Harry says.

“And what was that?” Louis asks.

Harry hesitates before he rolls onto his back, pulling Louis all the way on top of him. He dips his fingers into Louis’ trousers, asking permission. Louis nods and helps him pull them down, chest tightening as Harry finally grips him in his hand.

“It was always just the two of us. Here. We’d be wrestling and, I don’t know why, but we’d always be rolling around in mud. I liked to pretend I was good competition, so by the time you had me pinned we were both out of breath. And you’d lean down, and then you were the one kissing me, wanting me.”

“Our first kiss gave you a complex,” Louis laughs. He nips at Harry’s bottom lip in reminder, fingers digging into Harry’s shoulder as Harry’s fist works over him.

Harry’s hand is better, bigger.

“How would _you_ feel if during your first kiss you knew he’d rather kiss a banana slug than you?” Harry asks. His hand speeds up, eyes going intense as Louis gasps against his mouth.

“You can’t honestly think I’d choose a slug over you,” Louis says. He palms at the front of Harry’s trousers, eager to feel him in his hand too. “I couldn’t sleep that night.”

“More,” Harry murmurs, his eyes rolling back as he moans. “Please.”

Harry lifts his hips as Louis guides his trousers down his thighs. Harry grasps them both in one hand as soon as he’s free and—

“God,” Louis drops down onto his elbows, framing Harry’s face and shoulders. Louis has to clench his fists, it feels so good.

“In my dreams, you’d cage me in like this,” Harry pants. “And you’d rub against me like I used to with my pillows.”

“That’s filthy, Harry. My mum washed those for you.”

Harry slaps his free hand over Louis’ mouth. “Can you let _me_ finish?”

Louis nods and bites at Harry’s palm. Feeling brave, Louis says, “we can both finish.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and bucks up into his fist, making both of them cry out. “I’m almost there.”

“Finish your story,” Louis tells him. He feels powerful with the knowledge that he can affect Harry like this.

“So you’d rub against me. And I’d have my legs wrapped around your waist to keep you close, and you’d tell me…” Harry trails off, turning his face to the side.

“What did I say?” Louis asks. He grinds down into Harry’s fist, his stomach muscles clenching at the sensation. “Don’t be embarrassed. I want to know.”

Harry brings his face back to center, forehead pressed to Louis’. “I think I was fifteen. You’d say that you were in love with me and that I was—that I was more attractive than Nick. And that I had much bigger muscles than Niall.”

Louis doesn’t laugh. He reaches down between them and laces his fingers between Harry’s, helping him.

“I’m in love with you. And you _are_ more attractive than Nick—”

Louis’s cut off by Harry’s groan and him coming all over their fists. Harry rides it out, hips twitching and sweat beaded across his forehead, the chill forgotten.

Louis follows when Harry grabs at his hips, pulling him close so he can rub off against his him. Louis shouts and adds to the mess of his stomach.

Before Louis’ racing heart has calmed, glitter rains down upon them and giggles sound through the air. He flips onto his back, pulling the blankets up to his and Harry’s chests.

“Who’s there?” Louis calls out, still out of breath.

Perrie the fairy backflips from a tree branch, glitter trailing behind her as she goes. “Oh, that was beautiful.”

“How long have you been there?” Harry asks, eyes wide and scandalized as he checks to make sure they’re both completely covered.

“Not long enough,” she sighs. “I was minding my own business, just flying off in search of Jade, when I heard the most peculiar sounds. Naturally, I had to investigate. You’re very gentle lovers. I wish I’d seen the whole thing, rather than just the grand finale.”

“Oh my God,” Louis buries his face in Harry’s chest. “Please don’t tell Jade or Zayn about this.”

“But they’ll want to know,” Perrie lands on Harry’s chest and knees Louis’ face out of the way. Louis throws an arm across Harry’s stomach instead and settles for his shoulder.

“It can be our little secret,” Harry half-begs.

“That’s no fun, though,” Perrie laughs. “So tell me. Are you going to the castle tomorrow?”

Louis closes his eyes when he realizes she’s not going anywhere anytime soon. But he’s quite content to drift off to the sounds of Perrie and Harry discussing the impending climax of their adventure. It’s nice to see a friendly, familiar face and Harry’s arm is wrapped tight around his shoulder. He feels better than he has in a long while, safer too.

He’ll worry in the morning.

Tonight is good.

~ 

_Over_ is a subdued land. The people there seem to walk with their feet dragging and their heads down. There’s no bustle of the marketplace and the children don’t run at the villager’s feet playing pranks or enjoying themselves.

As Louis watches from behind a crumbling stone cottage, he feels sad.

“What do they even do here?” Louis whispers into the void.

Harry shakes his head, his eyes squinted as he surveys the land. “I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone would like to live here.”

The wall shakes as the cottage’s front door slams shut. Louis hides himself more fully behind the wall but watches as a middle-aged man hobbles away.

Once he’s no more than a speck in the distance, Louis and Harry sneak into the cottage through the front door.

They’re unsure how much time they have before the man comes back, so they’re lucky the bedroom is easy to find.

Once inside, they throw the middle-aged man’s clothes on top of theirs and rifle through the drawers to find a hat that will shield Harry’s face.

Shrugging, Louis throws another shirt in his bag for Niall.

“Oh no,” Louis whispers, pulling out a woman’s blouse from the drawer as well. They listen closely as Louis silently stuffs it into the bag for Gemma, and then they both hurry out of the cottage, unseen.

Louis’ heart calms, but only marginally.

~

The castle is the center of the land, the only landmark or setting worthy of being noticed.

Louis isn’t sure that will make it more difficult or easier to break in.

“She’ll be at the top of the tallest tower,” Harry whispers to him, his voice tight. “She’ll be over there.”

He points to the opposite end of the castle, to where a point stands higher than the rest.

They begin their walk, both with their heads down and their hands in their pockets. Closer to the castle, the land is more populated, but most people don’t seem to pay them much attention.

It quickly becomes obvious that they don’t fit in, though.

Most of the townspeople wear loose flowing tops and have brown stains along the arms and legs of their clothes. Some are hauling loads of clay and others are carrying delicate pots with intricate designs carved into them.

"We should've rolled around in the mud a bit," Harry says under his breath.

It doesn’t become a problem until they catch the attention of a woman in a stringent-looking uniform. She glares at them and crosses her arms over her chest, stopping in her tracks to observe them as they walk.

“Harry,” Louis whispers through his teeth. He can’t feel his feet. “That woman is looking at us. She’s watching us.”

“Oh,” Harry’s voice is quiet. He slows. “Should we walk the other way?”

“No, God. _No._ We keep walking. We—” Louis catches sight of a large potted vase beneath a window.

It’s in front of a house that no doubt belongs to someone. That someone owns. And probably has planned to do something with said vase.

But Louis is desperate and latches onto his split second decision.

“Ah! There it is,” he says, loudly so the woman can hear. “This way, H- _Barry.”_

Harry gives him an inquisitive look, but follows along. Louis tries to keep his pace casual as they approach the vase, but he feels like he’s shaking and sweating and entirely too obvious.

“You take one end and I’ll take the other,” Louis tells him.

“Where are we going to take it?” Harry asks. They lift the vase and hoist it over their shoulders, copying the strategy the other potters had used.

“I don’t know. Towards Gemma and away from her,” Louis points to the scowling woman with his chin. “Make sure you don’t smile at her as we pass. This isn’t a friendly area.”

Louis’ heart somewhere in his stomach, the two march past the woman without any trouble. And once they turn the corner, the tallest tower comes into view, unshielded by a moat or castle wall.

Louis lets out a breath of relief. One less obstacle to worry about.

“I think I was about to faint back there,” Harry wheezes. “Louis, I don’t think I can—”

“Where are you going with that?” a new voice stops them short. Louis freezes, prays Harry doesn’t blow their cover, and turns to the man in a uniform very similar to the stringent-looking woman’s hurrying their way.

“We were trying to find someone to ask, actually. We were just told to carry this. No idea who it’s for,” Louis lies.

“It’s for the Queen, isn’t it?” the man asks. “I recognize that pattern anywhere. Mary asked you to carry this, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Louis nods. “Now where would you like us to put it?”

“Nowhere,” the man scoffs. “I can’t let the two of you enter the castle without the Queen’s permission. But it’s alright, my shift’s nearly over. With the way the Princess has been screaming all morning, I’m not sure she needs someone to scare intruders away anyway.”

The guard takes the vase from them and turns without saying another word.

And once Harry looks up, his face peeking out from below the brim of his hat, Louis can see how pale he is. His expression is sad and angry, but the drive is evident.

“How much time do you think we have before his replacement comes?” Harry asks. His voice is flat as they watch the guard struggle up the steps to the main castle.

“I’m not sure,” Louis answers, hesitant. “But I think now’s the best chance we have.”

Harry nods, his eyebrows set in a straight line. “Yeah. Let’s go get Gemma.”

It’s hard for Louis not to reach out to Harry as they power-walk to the base of the tower. Louis can tell he’s hurting, desperate to see his sister, and terrified all at once.

“We’re almost there,” Louis smiles at him once they sneak through the entry archway, double-checking over their shoulders that nobody can see them.

As they begin the ascent, Louis shivers. The stairway is dreary and narrow, not unlike the one at the castle in their own kingdom. The resemblance is unnerving.

“What if we’re not there in time?” Harry murmurs, quickening his step. Louis almost can’t keep up.

“She’ll be alright,” he says. “Didn’t you hear what he said? She’s been vocal all day.”

“That’s what I’m most afraid of,” Harry’s voice sounds watery. “She’s upset.”

Harry jogs the second half of the staircase. But when they get to the top and Harry tugs on the rusted doorknob to get to Gemma's chamber, they’re locked out.

In fact, there are multiple locks on the door. It’s one of the most well locked doors Louis has ever laid eyes on.

“Who’s there?” Princess Gemma’s voice carries through the crack, murderous and deep. “I don’t want anything to eat. I just want to be left alone.”

“Gems,” Harry clutches at the door, fingernails pressing into the wood. “It’s me. We’re here to rescue you. And Niall. Both of you. But the door’s locked!”

“Harry?” she calls. The door shakes, as though she’s trying to pull it from its hinges from the other side. “You’re out there and I’m in here?”

“It’s fine,” Harry whispers, his face falling, breaking into a thousand pieces. “We’re getting you out. Please don’t be upset.”

The door shakes in response, rattling the wall around them.

Gemma screams.

A single tear rolls down Harry’s face. He drops his forehead to the wood, feeling every move Gemma makes on the other end.

Louis can’t watch. He can’t listen.

He pulls his sword from his belt and slashes at the locks, shocked and amazed as the door swings open.

But the amazement is cut short as soon as Gemma launches herself straight at him, her hair red as blood and her eyes clouded over, deranged. She’s strong, stronger than Louis would ever have anticipated, and he’d probably be freefalling down the entire staircase if Harry hadn’t launched himself back at her.

Together, he and Harry wrestle Gemma back into her room, back into safety. Tears stream down Harry’s face as he instructs Louis to help pin her to the floor. 

She puts up a worthy fight.

Louis feels immoral pinning her down and would probably hesitate to do anything at all if it weren’t such a quick and dire situation. Louis watches with  a grimace as Harry holds the back of Gemma's head to be sure she doesn’t hurt herself while thrashing about. He copies Harry’s technique of using one knee to pin down her shoulder and the other to pin down her hand.

“Can you—” Harry ducks out of the way as she tries to kick out her feet. Louis nods and holds her down just below her knees with his hands.

It feels like he’s intruding on something terrible and private. The way Harry’s whispering to her even as she tries to bite him, the way her eyes look lost and distant, as though it isn’t truly the Princess inside. It feels private, a royal secret that Louis stumbled upon without an invitation.

A royal secret that he wishes he never knew, that he feels so sad to know has been plaguing Gemma for her whole life, and even Harry's to an extent. Louis feels sad to know that this might have been a regular occurrence and Gemma and Harry had nobody to speak to about it except for their family, and perhaps Eleanor and Niall.

He also feels trusted and loves Harry even more, if possible. Stories are one thing, but seeing it in action, seeing Gemma’s explosive jealousy from beside her, is quite another. He didn't expect it to be quite this bad.

Eventually, she calms. Her limbs don’t struggle to break free from their hold, her eyes uncloud, her hair turns from red to blonde, and she seems to sag into the stone floor.

“Are you here?” Harry sniffs, his eyes red and puffy.

Louis wants to hold him for ten minutes straight.

Gemma takes a look around the room, eyes welling up with tears as she nods. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers. “It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad we’re here.”

Both he and Louis let go of her, allowing her to stretch out and sit up. She reaches for Harry and wraps both arms around his shoulders, crying into his neck as Harry holds back more tears of his own.

“It’s alright,” he comforts her, rubbing at her back. “We’re here now.”

Louis digs his fingernails into his leg, trying not to react as he has the chance to take in Gemma’s gaunt appearance for the first time. She has bruises littering her arms and legs, scratches across her skin, and patches of hair missing from her scalp. He has questions, so many inappropriately timed and invasive questions to ask. He wishes he could help.

“Gems, where’s Niall?” Harry asks, cheek still pressed to her hair. “Has the witch done anything to you? What’s been happening?”

Gemma sniffs and pulls back, rubbing under her nose. “I don’t know. After we were kidnapped, I woke up in this tower. I haven’t moved since.”

“They’ve been feeding you?” Harry asks.

“I haven’t wanted them to,” Gemma admits, her lip wobbling. “I didn’t think anyone would ever come save me. I didn’t think it could happen.”

“We love you and Niall too much. We had to come,” Harry tells her. Gemma’s eyes snap to Louis, as though she just realized he’s there too.

 _“Louis?_ You came too?” Gemma looks to be a cross between surprised and touched.

“You’re going to be Queen. And I owed Niall. And I couldn’t let Harry come alone,” Louis explains, hoping his smile isn’t too fragile.

“I appreciate it. Three is better than two, if we’re going to get Niall back too,” she says.

“And we are. But he’s probably in the main castle with the witch,” Louis thinks aloud. “I’m not sure where else she’d keep him.”

“We brought you a new shirt. You’ll be less recognizable once we get into the main castle,” Harry tells her.

Louis grabs the shirt from his bag and hands it to her. She throws it on over her simple pajamas and looks down at the sight.

 

Louis isn’t sure what he expected to come next.

Gemma’s outbursts seem to be typical to both her and Harry, but Louis would still expect some sort of debrief. Some sort of resolution to what just happened. A little bit more than a quick apology and a hug.

He isn’t sure what to expect, but it isn’t what Gemma says next.

“Well, then. I guess we’ve better get going. I’ve got a husband to save.”

 

~ 

“How much longer until they leave?” Louis hisses. They’ve been stranded on the staircase for hours, waiting for an opening to make their escape. There are two guards and they both stroll past the arch opening in intervals, never giving them a chance.

“Once it’s dark they spread to watch over all ends of the castle, but they never go away completely,” Gemma says. She sits on a step with her head on Harry’s shoulder, her eyes closed. “And most doors are locked, especially at night.”

“How do you know that?” Louis asks. He gives up on his pacing and sits at Harry’s other side.

“It gets very boring sitting in a castle all alone,” Gemma says. “I had to stop my observations fairly quickly because it made me angry that they were free while I wasn’t, but it passed the time.”

Louis hears Harry’s sharp intake of breath. He places a palm on his thigh, calming him. “When you say most…”

“I could see most doors from so high up. I think they’re all locked except for _maybe_ the kitchens. They have so many people coming in and out so often that it seems illogical to . Of course, I had to stop paying attention because it just made me angry that people were going to eat while I was stuck with mush. But—”

“Hey,” Harry cuts her off, his nervous eyes to her reddening hair and shaking fingers. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you some really great food soon. Niall, too.”

Her hair slowly fades back to its natural color. “Sorry. I know. I’m much happier now that you’re here. It’s just been hard.”

“I know. It was a hard journey for us too,” Harry tells her. He slides his hand on top of Louis’. “Probably not anywhere near as hard as it’s been for you, but finally being here has been such a relief.”

Louis smiles at him in agreement and squeezes his fingers.

“What is this?” Gemma asks, her words deep and shaking as she glares at their hands.

Her hair returns to the red from before, deeper in color, her voice rising in volume with every word. “You went off and fell in love while I’ve been stuck in this tower all by myself? Forcibly separated from my husband, who’s probably in the castle right now with that _wench?”_

“Gemma,” Harry attempts to calm her, but he stands and backs away, fear in his eyes. Louis follows, taking slow steps down the staircase.

Gemma screams, and that’s when the guard from outside comes rushing through the archway. He takes one look at Gemma and freezes.

“Just as mad as the rumors say,” the guard whispers to himself.

But Gemma hears. Her eyes cloud over and her hair is vibrant and Harry is yelling for them to _run_ as soon as she steps foot forward.

Louis doesn’t hesitate, might begin running even before Harry does.

Louis leads the pack and races down the remaining steps. He’s the first out of the tower, the first to reach the golden sunset. He stumbles forward a few paces before turning back, turning to reach for Harry to make sure he’s okay.

He isn’t there.

Beyond the arch, Louis can see in perfect clarity what _is_ happening. The guard, with an evil and terrified expression upon his face, has his fingers clenched tight around Harry’s throat, holding him an arm’s length away from him. Gemma is wild, her sharp teeth gnashing right beside Harry’s neck and ear as her fingernails claw at the guard’s exposed arm. Harry, the barrier between an angry Gemma and the homicidal guard, looks as though his face is turning blue, gasping for breath.

“Stay away, beast!” the guard shouts. “Take him! Take _him!”_

Louis’ feet are wings as he sprints back to them, his fingers reaching for his sword, no time to waste.

As soon as he’s within range, he swings, chopping off the guard’s arm at the elbow with one clean stroke. The guard howls and steps away just as Harry falls forward into Louis’ chest, gasping for air.

And Gemma, now with access to her vulnerable target, pounces.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks Harry. He has one arm around Harry’s waist and fingers skimming across his throat, his heart rabbiting against his ribs.

Harry nods and squeezes his eyes shut, burrowing his forehead into Louis’ neck as Gemma’s screams weaken in volume. “Are you?”

Louis nods, even though he’s positive he isn’t. He holds Harry close and rubs at his back, turning his head to watch for any signs of the guard returning: the guard who tried to sacrifice Harry to his own sister.

“Oh no,” Gemma’s tearful voice echoes his thoughts.

The guard is sprawled on the floor, unmoving, blood everywhere.

“I’ve killed him,” Gemma gasps, her hands as blood red as her hair was only moments ago. “I’ve killed another.”

“I think—” Louis’ throat closes up. “I think _I’ve_ killed this one.”

Harry lifts his head, sniffling as he steps away from Louis. He looks down at the man, but quickly averts his eyes. “He was trying to kill me first.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve killed him,” Louis argues, borderline hysterical. He wasn’t trained for killing. He’s no Knight. He was never taught how to deal with the guilt of killing another person, evil or not.

“I’m the one who’s killed him,” Gemma shakes her head. “It was me. I know it was.”

Harry rubs at his throat, his eyes hardening, calculating. “I think it matters less who did it and more that we’re all alright. At least for now.”

“Are we, though?” Louis asks. He can’t think.

“What’s important is that there’s one less guard roaming the perimeter. If there’s any time to get out of here, it’s now. Before someone notices what’s happened,” Harry states.

Louis nods, thankful for Harry’s strategy lessons that stuck, for Harry staying levelheaded as Louis feels guilt and shock clawing through his ribcage.

“We have to keep going,” Harry looks into Louis’ eyes. His fingers twitch as though he’d like to grab his hand, but he refrains. “Is that okay, Lou? Gems?”

Gemma looks down at her bloody hands and sniffs, but nods the affirmative. Louis closes his eyes, stuffs his guilt into the furthest corner of his mind, and nods as well.

“Gems, I’m going to give you this hat. Where are the kitchens?”

~ 

Louis breathes in deep, a zucchini in one hand and his other fist raised to knock against the kitchen door.

Trying not to think of swords and chopped arms, he knocks.

When nobody answers, he pushes it open himself. He peers inside, scoping out all corners of the dark storage hallway before he deems it all clear.

“We’re good!” he calls behind his shoulder. Gemma and Harry peek out from behind a bush and enter the building behind him.

As Louis’ eyes adjust to the lighting, he realizes there are three doors.

He walks to the one on the far left and holds his ear up to the crack, where light is filtering through. “This one sounds—”

Suddenly, the door swings open and Louis is falling into the chest of a muscular man. He has a very large, very sharp knife held in his hand.

“What’re you doing out here?” the man roars. “Dinner’s in twenty minutes! We don’t have time to waste!”

“I—I couldn’t find the—” he holds up his zucchini, thankful for the foresight. “I’m just going to get back to work.”

“Good,” the man brushes past him, into the hallway. Louis’ heart stops as he waits for the inevitable fallout, for Harry and Gemma to be discovered and for the three of them to be killed on the spot, but all he hears is echoing footsteps.

And then they’re gone.

Shaking, Louis takes a step forward. His eyes linger and pass over the half tossed salads and the meat pies, from chef to chef until he finds an open section beside a woman chopping carrots.

There it is.

Louis takes his place next to her and places his zucchini on the cutting board.

“I’ve lost my knife. Think I can borrow this one?” he asks her, pointing to the knife by her side.

The woman shrugs. “Not mine.”

“Oh.” Frustrated, Louis grabs the knife and attempts to dig more. “Nice meal we’re having tonight, yeah?”

“Not sure we’ll be eating any of this,” the woman scowls.

“Oh, of course,” Louis agrees easily. He chops at the zucchini, unsure ho to phrase his question without looking like a meddler. “I forgot. Where does the Queen keep the prisoners? I was supposed to be the one bringing them their meal tonight.”

At this, the woman stops her own chopping and turns to him. “You’re supposed to bring the prisoners their meals tonight?”

“Yes,” Louis gulps, disliking her tone.

“Which prisoners?” she asks.

“Like, well, I think his name is Niall. And the other one’s name rhymes with—with—”

“The only Niall here that I know of is King Niall. And he’s definitely no prisoner,” the woman gives him a shifty glare. “He sleeps upstairs in the main bedroom. We haven’t had any prisoners in months.”

“Oh,” Louis’ lungs collapse within the span of her short sentence. “Well, I can assure you that you’re wrong. We do have prisoners tonight. Or, I thought we did. I’m going to go check that I wasn’t given incorrect information. Excuse me,” he tries to leave, but she holds out her arm to stop him.

“I don’t think I recognize you,” she squints.

“I just got a hair trim. Excuse me,” he finally pushes past her, trying to keep his walk slow and inconspicuous.

But once he makes it into the hallway, he panics.

“Harry?” he whispers into the darkness. “Harry, are you here?”

“Here, Lou,” comes Harry’s answering whisper. “The castle is through here.”

Harry grabs his wrist and pulls him through the center door.

Once inside, he, Harry, and Gemma huddle together behind a statue.

“I think I just gave us away,” Louis admits.

“What?” Harry asks.

“No time. But Niall slee—” he cuts himself off, wary of Gemma’s explosive ways. “ _stays_ upstairs.

“Where’s upstairs?” Gemma asks, slightly desperate.

“Not sure. A map would be lovely,” Louis tries to smile, to cut the tension.

Harry nods. “There’s no way to go but up, right? We might as well go for him now. Before they realize there are people here who don’t belong.”

“Harry. Lovely, lovely, Harry. We already know.”

~


	10. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW intense manipulation and and violence

_~_

_“The entire forest?” Anne asked. “That’s over a third of the kingdom!”_

_“The forest, 100 gold coins, and ten years of your life,” Simon said, relentless._

_“Of my life?” Anne asked._

_Simon nodded. “If and only if I receive those three things will I let you live. Those are my demands.”_

_Anne dropped her sword and touched her stomach, her eyes travelling over to her husband’s terrified form and Blaire’s confliction, only inches away. “If I were to give you those three things, how will I know you won’t kill us in our sleep and go against your word? Why should I trust you?"  
_

_“Because it will be a magical pact. You’ll know because you’ll be marked by a cross on your ankle. I can’t break that.”_

_Anne breathed out harshly through her nose. “This protection will be for me, my unborn daughter, my husband, and my sister? We’ll be safe from you?”_

_Simon nodded._

_~_

**Captured**

~

 

Groggy. Braided rope. A faraway sense of dread.

Louis is woozy and wakes up to a harsh slap to the face.

“Good. We’re all here now,” Blaire speaks, smiling a twisted smile. It doesn’t match her face, her deep purple robes, or the blood-red polish on her long nails.

Louis blinks rapidly, attempts to raise his hand to rub at his stinging cheek, and realizes he’s tied to a thick pillar in the corner of a ballroom. Harry and Gemma both stand struggling beside him, equally as tied up and equally as disoriented.

Slowly, comprehension dawns upon Gemma. Her hair turns deep red and she screams and thrashes her head back, the sound worse than any Louis has heard from her yet.

Blaire immediately silences her with a flick of her wrist.

“It does no good to yell,” Blaire says as she walks away, her voice soft but lethal. The click of her heels is loud and echoes. “Nobody good is here to listen.”

“Let us go!” Harry shouts. He struggles against the restrains, to no avail. Louis also can’t move, the ropes digging into his skin to the point where he’s unsure his blood is flowing correctly.

“I can’t,” Blaire answers. She pauses and looks to the high ceiling, her back turned to the three of them.

The room is quiet, hollow, devoid of life. Gemma thrashes beside Louis, unspeaking.

They’re no matches for a witch. Louis feels the dread creep through him, the understanding that this could be the end. This probably is the end. After everything, they’re going to fail so close to their goal. Niall may never know they came for him.

“I once dreamt of children,” Blaire says. She stands with her head bowed. “I was never skilled at getting what I desired, though.”

“There’s still time,” Louis speaks up. His voice is hoarse and scratchy, shaking with fear.

“I’m in far too deep,” she shakes her head. “There are no children in my future. There’s no redemption. I’ve waited over twenty years for a reconciliation of some sort, but there’s been none.”

“What’d you expect?” Harry spits at her. “Did you think that with Gemma doing well despite what you’ve cursed her with, you’d be invited to her wedding? That all would be forgiven in time?”

“We all do things we regret when emotions run high,” Blaire says softly. “I’d hoped. I’ve always hoped for a resolution.”

“What is hope with no fight?” Harry asks. “You never reached out. You never broke the curse or even apologized!”

The glow of a candle reflects from a point not too far in the distance. Louis finds himself drawn to it.

“She never asked me to come back. She never asked me to break the curse.”

After squinting, Louis realizes it’s his sword. Close, but out of reach. The one thing his good for nothing father left him, useless.

Harry lets out a terrible laugh. “You say that like you’d made an effort in the first place.”

“She sent me away and never wished to hear from me again!” she turns back to them, her nostrils flaring in anger. “How is one supposed to seek forgiveness when that forgiveness isn’t freely given? My presence has never been welcome with her. _Never._ After silence for over twenty years, her first words were that I was unwelcome. Unwelcome somewhere I used to call home.”

“If you’d come with the intention of maybe _not_ ruining Gemma’s wedding, I think she’d have been much more open to a conversation,” Harry counters.

“You don’t know your mother like I do, then. She’d been looking for an excuse to rid herself of me since we were children. Our relationship has been irreparably damaged. You’re just the collateral damage of a battle that played out years ago.”

“It isn’t irreparable,” Gemma finally seems to have calmed down, her hair back to its normal blonde. “If you broke the curse, if you freed my husband… you could be forgiven. All isn’t lost.”

Blaire squeezes her eyes shut, her face pained. “All was lost before you were even born.”

“We can talk to her,” Gemma pleads. “Please. You’re family. We’re family and we’re all still alive. There’s nothing that’s truly unforgiveable if one means the apology.”

“Your mother doesn’t do forgiveness.”

Gemma holds her head up higher. “When we get back to the castle, I’m Queen. She’s stepped down. Her rules won’t be law anymore if I say they aren’t.”

“As though you of all people would let me free,” Blaire murmurs in disbelief.

“I think you underestimate the person I am,” Gemma says. “I know how destructive this conflict has been. There’s nothing more I want than peace between lands—between the family!”

Blaire blinks, considering. “How would I know you wouldn’t turn on me as soon as you’re back? I’m not one to trust freely. I’ve been spurned in the past, badly.”

“Do you not know magic? To see if I mean what I say?” Gemma asks.

Blaire shakes her head, deep in thought, fingers wringing together in front of her stomach. She seems to be speaking more to herself. “That was never my talent, but his.”

“I’m not lying. Being cursed has taught me the importance of forgiveness. Forgiveness without reason, even. I know how to see the good in others,” Gemma begs. “You can still be who you wanted to be, once upon a time. We can still be a family.”

Louis isn’t sure if Gemma’s being truthful. He’s unsure how someone could forgive someone for such a troubling life-long curse. He hopes it work, though.

Blaire’s eyes soften, making her look ten years younger. Her lips start to shake. “Do you really think that?”

“Really!” Gemma nods. “Just untie us please! We can—”

“Blaire!” a deep voice shouts as the double doors fly open. Fog filters into the room and Blaire’s soft interior melts into one more defensive and livid.

”What are _you_ doing here?” Blaire yells. Louis watches with halted breath as the Cowell emerges from the fog, out of place with is red-tinged skin and without his mystical forest surrounding him. His servant, the one who’d tried to convince Louis he wasn’t on the Cowell’s side, falls into step a few paces behind him.

The spy. The coward. In a wild rush, Louis regrets sparing his life. Perhaps he was the one who told the Cowell of their proximity to the castle.

“Can’t I come say hello to my favorite girl?” the Cowell asks.

Blaire’s hands clench into fists at her sides. “I’ve never been your favorite girl.”

“You’ve always been my favorite girl,” the Cowell says. He approaches her slowly.

Blaire steps back, her hands out in front of her, on the defensive. “If I’m remembering correctly, I wanted you dead more than my sister the last time we spoke!”

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” the Cowell grunts as he deflects her curse. “I’ve been lonely without you.”

Blaire’s hands lower, just an inch. “Lonely? Because of me?”

Louis doesn’t like this. The only person more terrifying than Blaire in the entire land is the Cowell. Two evils don’t make a good.

Louis turns his head, seeking out Harry’s eye contact. Harry stares back, the fear in Louis’ eyes reflected plainly. If Louis could, he’d reach out for his hand.

The Cowell bravely steps forward. “Lonely. Very lonely. There are no other humans in the forest as lovely as you.”

Blaire’s stance turns rigid. “Our love was never real. You _told_ me it was never real. Why are you here? Answer me!”

“I already told you. I’m lonely. I miss you. I _have_ missed you.”

Blaire screams and clutches wildly at her hair, ruining it, making her look more unhinged than before. “Nothing for over twenty years! And now both ugly parts of my past have come back for me! All on the same day! This is too much!”

She sends another curse the Cowell’s way, but he deflects it. The green light bounces off the wall and soars past Louis’ ear, ruffling his hair.

“We weren’t ugly. We were good together.”

“I don’t think we’re remembering the same thing,” Blaire shouts. “You used me! You wanted to get to the crown. You never loved me!”

“I said that in the heat of the moment,” the Cowell argues. “You’d just chosen your sister over me. I think of _all_ people, you’d understand how much that hurt. I thought we were in it together, but you turned on me.”

With the Cowell’s switch to the offensive, Louis feels the tension rise. Blaire’s face falls, clearly not expecting the accusations being thrown her way.

“I—I turned on you? I hurt you?” Blaire wilts.

“You did,” the Cowell nods. “I wanted to apologize the next day, but I feared emotions were still running too high. And then it felt too late. I’d lost you for good, I believed.”

“He’s lying!” Harry yells from beside Louis. “He’s lying to you. There’s not a loving bone in his body!”

“I’m not lying,” the Cowell denies, a vein in his neck throbbing. “These are Anne’s children. Don’t think for a second they have any caring feelings towards you. She’s pumped them full of biased stories about the two of us since they were toddlers.”

“The girl seems more sincere than you ever were,” Blaire answers, her tone more deadly than before. “Why should I believe anything has changed?”

“I was the one who was there when your sister left you. I held you when you cried, I taught you everything I knew at the time, we _lived_ together. Out of love. I loved you more than your sister ever did or ever will. I voluntarily spent my life with you. She was forced. She never truly cared for you in the way I did,” the Cowell says.

Blaire’s chest heaves. “She did. I know she did.”

“She abandoned you first. She first abandoned you out of disinterest. I left out of passion. Passion breeds of love, disinterest breeds of neutrality. I’ve always cared much, much more.”

Silence follows as Blaire considers.

Louis’ body feels frozen. He doesn’t believe the Cowell for a moment, but he can't comprehend exactly what they’re fighting about, what happened. He can’t know what to believe.

And then.

“You’re right. When you put it that way, it becomes clear. She’s never loved me. And I’m a fool to think she could after all that I’ve done. All that _we’ve_ done.”

The Cowell’s smile feels like a guillotine. Louis feels the shift in the air as he pulls her close into an embrace.

“No!” Harry yells, desperate and urgent. “He’s lying! She loved you! She could forgive you!”

The Cowell’s glare falls upon Harry once again. His eyes are cold, hateful, scheming.

“We’re going to merge our lands. Is that what you’d like?” the Cowell asks Blaire. They’re close so it’s a whisper, difficult for Louis to hear.

Blaire doesn’t break the embrace. She nods into the Cowell’s chest, half a smile on her lips. “Maybe I could finally go back into the forest. I haven’t gone since I was a little girl. You could take me with you. We could go together.”

“Sure, sure,” the Cowell appeases her. ”Our lands are separated by magic, though. It’s not that easy.”

Blaire finally pulls back, tears in her eyes. “Why not? What isn’t easy about it? Magic can be broken with more.”

“I cast a spell around the entire forest. I didn’t want your sister getting in. And I wasn’t sure I could ever trust you again unless you fought for me, what with how easily you turned against me when it came to me against your sister.”

“What must I do?” Blaire asks. “I can fight. My magic is strong. I haven’t had much else to do but practice since we were separated.”

“I know, darling,” the Cowell says. “I had to make the stakes high. I didn’t trust that you would truly be on my side unless there was bloodshed. Passion is devotion.”

“I haven’t killed another since—since the forest. I’m unsure I can,” Blaire says as a tear rolls past her cheek, shaking her head.

“If you don’t, our lands will never be merged and I’ll never know you’re truly on my side,” the Cowell holds her away, at arms length. “You’ll never be able to face your fear. You’ll never make it into the forest.”

“I am! I’m on your side,” she insists. “I love you. I’ll do it. I—I can do this for you. If it means being together for the rest of our time here.”

“Wonderful,” the Cowell says. “It must be without magic, though. It’s easy with magic, but there’s no passion. How are you with a sword?”

“Not great,” Blaire admits, which makes the Cowell’s eyes twinkle.

“That’s alright. Neither is that man over there.”

Louis feels himself break into a cold sweat. He’s pointing at Harry. Louis fights against his constraints, but he can’t move an inch.

“My nephew?” Blaire asks, hand to her heart. “I—I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that.”

“He’s your sister’s son. How am I supposed to believe you’d choose me over your sister if you choose her son over me now?” the Cowell asks.

Louis hears the malice in his voice, the manipulation. This has been calculated. The Cowell wants Harry dead, wants Blaire to do it herself.

Louis fights so hard against his restrains that he goes lightheaded. Harry is as still as a statue beside him.

“He’s been trained to kill since he was a child. I’m no match for him,” Blaire argues, her eyes apprehensive.

“That man possesses no more skill with a sword than a toddler,” the Cowell reassures her.

His eyes fall upon Louis’ sword, still glinting in the glow of the candles, and approaches it. His fingers slide over the blade appreciatively, and then he grabs it.

“I’m not sure—”

“Do you not love me?” the Cowell asks. He holds the sword out to her, his stare penetrating. “This is the only sure way to prove your love to me. It’s the only way my magic will understand. It’s the ultimate oath. I’ll trust you again.”

Blaire doesn’t speak for a charged moment. Finally, she nods.

Gemma screams and Louis’ toes go number than before and Harry’s head falls forward in grief.

With Louis’ sword in one hand, Blaire raises the other and their bindings come free. Louis feels a tickling sensation as he immediately struggles and tries to reach forward, tries to rip his sword from her hand or worse, but he finds that he’s still unable to move. Gemma begins thrashing more violently than before beside him, equal in her fate.

Harry, though. Harry, with his face as white as bone and his limbs shaking like he’s freezing to death, steps forward.

Once Harry’s out in the open, the ropes come back up to wrap around Louis and Gemma. The tickling goes away, replaced by cold fear and rope burns.

Harry stands before Blaire and the Cowell, his head held high, and Louis is so in love and so terrified that he can’t see straight. Tears rush down his face, out in the open, unashamed.

“Drew,” the Cowell says imperiously. “The sword I’ve let you borrow. Give it to Harry.”

The Cowell’s servant steps forward. He pulls a sword from his belt and holds it out to Harry, his expression unreadable. Harry takes the sword from him with no words, his demeanor almost as composed as Louis has seen many times, before all of his sword fights.

Louis can’t watch, can’t struggle, and finds himself pleading with his eyes for the servant to do anything, to turn his back on the Cowell, to save Harry. To use his freedom. He’s saved Harry’s life once before, why not again?

The servant just stares back, almost nodding, not doing one productive thing. His finger points down to his ankle, and through the fear Louis looks, sees a black cross. Tries to comprehend but there’s too much going on in his mind. He can’t think of anything but saving Harry, getting to Harry, killing Blaire and the Cowell in one rush of fury.

Louis wants to scream, but he finds that he can’t. He’s helpless and terrified into silence, unsure if it’s natural or due to an enchantment.

Gemma screams again, but her voice is immediately cut off.

Harry looks over his shoulder as he lets out a breath, the deepest and most terrified breath Louis has ever seen a person take. Louis remembers, abruptly. Remembers Harry’s fears, his aversion to death, his aversion to looking death straight in the face. This is exactly what Harry never wanted, his worst fear come to life, and Louis is going to watch it all play out, helpless to stop it.

Harry’s had a few close calls, but he’s never been so close. The sword that’s going to kill him is just five feet ahead of him, gleaming and ready.

Louis feels himself go woozy, his vision is in and out.

He’s going to watch Harry die. He’s going to watch Harry get murdered.

Harry deserves better. Harry, with his pure heart and tender kisses and bravery, does not deserve to die like this. Not at the hands of a family member gone rogue and an evil manipulator that’s made it seem as though he’s capable of feeling anything but greed and power.

The room stills when Harry’s eyes meet Louis’. Louis sees so much reflected back at him with the one fleeting look—growing older, quiet conversations, mischief and little white lies. Rivers, trees, and fairies. Promises and kisses, sweet kisses, love and hope.

But it extinguishes quickly, the contact breaking as Harry sends a quick glance Gemma’s way. There’s no time. There’s not enough time. The timer began once Louis followed Harry into the forest, but the last grain of sand has dropped.

This is goodbye.

Harry sends an air kiss their way, and then rolls his shoulders back and resigns himself to his fate.

This is goodbye.

At the Cowell’s whisper into her ear, Blaire lunges forward, her sword raised.

Harry miraculously deflects and Louis’ heart begins to race, racing the sand to the very end. “That’s not how you begin a fight!”

“There are no rules when it’s to the death,” the Cowell laughs, watching with wide, gleeful eyes. Louis feels sick. “Come on, Blaire. Quick and easy.”

Harry turns onto the offensive, aiming for her shoulder, but Blaire blocks it. “You’re even worse than you mother.”

“Don’t talk about my mum!” Harry yells, sweat dripping from his brow as he takes aim for her leg. “You’re the one who never loved her if _this_ is what you’re willing to agree to!”

“You don’t know how I felt! All I’ve ever wanted was to be loved, but she made it impossible! This is her fault!”

Harry ducks out of the way, dodging a harsh swing. Louis watches, the rope the only thing keeping him together. “Don’t blame your faults on others! The only person who can make you unlovable is yourself! She didn’t have that power!”

“You don’t understand!” Blaire shouts, redoubling her efforts. “You don’t understand how I felt! She was perfect and I was the jealous little sister that stood in her shadows! I shattered every day!

“And you don’t think you’re the only one who’s felt that way?” Harry fights back. “Gemma feels that every day, too! But instead of taking it out on others, on _you_ even, she chooses compassion! She does the best she can with what you’ve cursed her with! You’re complicit in your story, complicit in your groveling!”

Blaire becomes more ferocious, knocking Harry’s sword out of his hand.

This is goodbye.

Harry’s expression relaxes and he touches his fingers to his chest, over the scar from Zayn’s potion.

This is goodbye.

“I don’t think you ever truly wanted love. You wanted a reason.”

With that, Blaire screams and stabs Harry right over the scar.

Louis cries as he watches, curse broken, everything broken, nothing the same. It seems to happen in slow motion, Blaire’s evil eyes and wild hair, Harry’s defiant acceptance and unwavering eye contact. Unable to protect himself, the gleam of Blaire’s sword, _Louis’ sword,_ as it plunges forward. The tip ripping into Harry’s shirt, then his skin, then Louis’ tears streaming down his face, Gemma’s scream, even louder than his.

And then it all rushes forward in real time.

Because at contact with Harry’s skin, the sword flies backwards, taking Blaire with it. She’s lifted into the air, thrown into an ungraceful backflip, and then explodes along with the sword into a million fragments of wasted magic and lost possibilities.

Louis feels an overwhelming sense of anger, of jealousy, of hurt, of confusion, of loneliness and profound loss fly through him as Blaire’s final scream sounds through the air. His tears fall faster, his body in shock and the sudden shot of relief and confusion flowing through him like whiskey.

“Good work, Harry,” the Cowell grins as Blaire’s final remains disintegrate. “She was always the only one who could destroy herself, in the end.”

“You—you planned this,” Harry says, his voice weak, his fingers still touching his chest. “You didn’t want me dead? You wanted her dead?”

“She trusted you!” Gemma screams from beside Louis. Her hair is pink, a shade between red and blonde.

“Oh, I still want you dead,” the Cowell turns to his servant. “Get rid of them.”

And then the Cowell turns, leaving the room, nobody left in the world capable of caring for him.

He doesn’t look back.

~


	11. The Flashback

_~_

_“In turn you’ll rule over the forest, take ten years of my life, and you want 100 gold coins from me? You want all of that in return for our safety?”_

_Simon nodded. Anne looked pained._

_“Fine. To protect my family, I will.”_

_Only moments after the declaration, Anne cried out in pain. She doubled over and brought a hand to her ankle, fingers ghosting over a small black cross that was suddenly imprinted there._

_“We have a deal,” Simon laughed before he vanished into nothingness._

_The moments that followed were tense, the gravity of the situation heavy on all sides._

_“I can’t believe I’m going to be an Aunt,” Blaire finally broke the silence._

_Anne slowly turned to her, chest out and shoulders tight. The look in her eyes was poisonous. “Just because I protected you doesn’t mean you’ll be an Aunt to my child.”_

_Blaire felt like Anne had stabbed her through the heart. She shook her head, not understanding. “He’d have killed you if it weren’t for me.”_

_“And I saved you, so we’re even. No more bad blood.”_

_“I now wish I didn’t,” Blaire snarled. “There’s still bad blood if you don’t want me here with you!”_

_“I don’t want you around my child, Blaire! You’ve made your choices and picked your side. And it’s not on this side of the kingdom.”_

_“You want to me to live in_ Over? _With them?”_

_Over, of course, referred to the land on the other side of the forest, where the soil and clay were plentiful and the potters resided._

_“I don’t trust you here,” Anne bowed her head regretfully, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I can’t risk you coming back in the middle of the night with a dagger above my chest again. Maybe before but… Not now that I have another life to take into consideration. You were going to murder me. Her. Us.”_

_~_

**The Flashback**

~

Still chained, Louis struggles to break free. The ropes feel more forgiving, but he’s still bound.

The servant stands unmoving, but the Cowell’s orders are clear.

“Watch out!” Louis yells to Harry, helpless as his face grows red with exertion.

Harry turns to the servant, still unarmed, sword lying on the floor five feet away from his feet.

The servant brings his fingers to his lips as he approaches Harry. Louis watches with wild eyes as Harry steps back, attempts to lunge for his sword, and trips over his own feet.

“Don’t hurt us,” Harry pleads from the floor, hands covering his face.

The servant drops down to cover Harry’s mouth with his hand.

Louis’ heart can’t take any more suspense, can’t watch Harry live and then be killed moments later.

“Stop!” he yells, feeling faint. The servant turns to glare back at Louis, all manic energy and sweaty temples.

“Everyone needs to be quiet!” the servant whispers, his voice little more than a hiss. “I’m not hurting anyone! I’m going to get you out of here. But you all need to be _quiet_ for that to happen.”

Remembering the servant’s murky ideals from their earlier meeting, Louis calms. Gemma is quiet, too, an odd, faraway expression upon her face, her hair still pink.

“I don’t want you here as the Cowell reclaims the castle,” the servant says slowly. “I’m going to cut you free.”

As he speaks, Louis can feel a chill creep through the air. The candles dim, flickering as the cold spreads. Louis shivers as the cold seems to seep through his skin, into his heart and lungs, freezing him from within.

“That’ll be the beginning then,” the servant mumbles to himself. He stands and grabs Harry’s sword from the floor, bypassing him completely as he makes his way to the pillar.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, panicking as the chill spreads. Harry’s also grabbing at his chest, worry plain on his face.

“The Cowell has always aimed to make those with good in their hearts hurt,” the servant explains. “That’ll be the dark magic.”

“It didn’t feel like this in the forest,” Louis grunts as the servant attempts to cut at their ties. “You could feel _something,_ but it didn’t hurt.”

“The Cowell wasn’t the only powerful sorcerer in the forest. It’ll hurt worse in a few hours, once Blaire’s magic has faded a bit.”

“Why does he want it to hurt?”

The servant’s eyes turn sad. “Why does anyone try to spread pain? To alleviate their own.”

“What happened to him to make him this _evil?_ What is the point? What does he get out of it?”

The servant wipes his brow, his breathing heavy. “I don’t think that’s a question we’ll get a straight answer to. He’s always had a disdain for the monarchy. I’m positive he’s coming for the Queen next—once the potters submit to his rule.”

Harry sits up straighter. “He’s coming for my mum next?”

“Yes,” the servant confirms. “He’s tried to kill her before. And her parents before that. Murder’s been on his mind since we were children.”

“We?” Harry asks. He stands, creeping up behind the servant, his eyes narrowed. “So you _have_ been a companion of the Cowell. For years. Why should we trust that you have our best interests at heart?”

“We weren’t companions," the servant looks affronted. "He grew up a few years older than me, but my father told me stories. His parents were outcasts, the terrifying type. Kids went missing sometimes when passing through their land on the outskirts of the forest. He didn’t come into town often, and when he did it was clear that there was something perilous about him. Isolation and parents like his—it wasn’t surprising. That's how I know."

The servant’s voice lowers to an even softer whisper. Louis is enthralled, his extremities numb from the rope, but too curious to ask him to hurry.

“One year during the harvest festival, he came out to celebrate. He began to follow the Princesses and asked about a lock of their hair, something about a potion. The Queen heard what happened and he was punished. Whispers say that you could hear his screams from the forest’s edge. He was warned to stay away from the Princesses, but we all know that didn’t happen.”

“How do you fit into this?” Harry presses.

“I don’t. I don’t have anything to do with the Cowell’s evil. I’ve just had a lot of time to think about why he is the way he is. And also probably the only person with a plan against him that could potentially work, but I can’t do it alone.”

“Wait, we can’t do anything without Niall. Where’s Niall?” Gemma asks. “We’re not leaving without him.”

“I’m unsure Niall will be the same as he was before,” the servant shakes his head sadly as he gets back to work on their binding. The rope, thick and strong, is difficult to break through. “I don’t know much more than the average person about magic, but he’s been under a curse for weeks. Long term curses are difficult to break, especially when the curse-maker is gone.”

“What?” Gemma asks, hysterical. Her eyes glaze over, her mouth going slack. It's sudden and stark.

“What’s wrong with her?” Harry asks immediately. “Why does she look like that?”

“She’s been cursed as well,” the servant reminds him, his voice much more even than Harry’s. “The curse won’t be the same as it was before, but it can’t be cured without reverse magic from the original curser.”

The rope finally breaks. Gemma falls forward into the servant’s arms, only half conscious. Louis reaches for Harry, red lines surrounding his wrists as he reaches for him, his heart calming at the touch.

Harry hugs him back, but his heart is only half there. “Well then, where is the Cowell? He can save her. I have coins at home. I have—”

“Harry,” the servant shakes his head. “The Cowell won’t be giving away any more favors. He has no use for extra years or coins now that he’s overtaken _Over_. He’s stronger than ever.”

“Then how can we fix her? We need to fix her,” Harry sniffles.

“I know you’re familiar with the forest—”

“Wait,” Louis asks. He turns, squinting at the man. “Why should we do anything you ask us to? You’re still with the Cowell, even if you have given us our freedom. How do we know you’re not just trying to get us out of here as soon as possible?

 

*

 

_Drew ran, frantic, the memory of his tiny son coughing up blood still fresh in his mind. The forest was dark and the rain fell fast, the icy drops drenching his clothes and skin, mud clinging to his bare feet._

_The Cowell. He needed The Cowell._

_No sooner than the thought passed through his mind, a deep red mist appeared before his eyes. Out of it, a man emerged from the shadows. He stopped and stared, eyes glowing and green._

_“Your thoughts are louder than most,” The Cowell spoke. Drew dropped to his knees, prepared to beg but unsure if his voice was needed._

_The Cowell began to laugh, a humorless, flat sound that echoed through the tall trees. “Tell me. What is it you need from me?”_

_Drew nodded, knees sinking further into the wet ground. “It’s my son. He’s sick. He’s very sick. I worry he’s going to die before he says his first word.”_

_The Cowell nodded, his face pensive. “Your son seems to have a bright future ahead of him.”_

_“He’ll live?” Drew cried, tears joining the rain on his face. “Thank—”_

_“The future is imprecise and unpredictable,” The Cowell interrupted, his voice hardly carrying over the rain. “But I can make it so he gets better, yes.”_

_Just as Drew made the connection, The Cowell smiled, terrible and twisted and not at all joyful. “But. You don’t have anything to offer me.”_

_Drew shook his head, afraid all that would come out would be bile if he were to open his mouth. His heart was beating quickly—so quickly. His son could be dead by sunrise._

_“100 gold coins and ten years of your life. That’s my price. And there are no exceptions.”_

_“None at all?” Drew wailed, unwilling to surrender. His son, his son!_

_Louis._

_The Cowell took his time answering, the red in his skin deepening. “Well, for someone so willing, I suppose I can make one small exception.”_

_“Please,” Drew begged. “Anything! I’ll give anything. He means_ everything _to me.”_

_“I can see that,” The Cowell affirmed. “Would you really give up everything to let him live? Your life, even?”_

_Drew collapsed, his elbows and forearms splatting into the mud._

_The choice, the choice! What an impossible choice! He’d heard of The Cowell’s growing ruthlessness, how he could read deeper into a person than they could read themselves, but he never imagined this._

_“Twenty years! What about twenty years of my life?” Drew begged. “Surely ten years is equal to the 100 gold coins! I have nothing to give but time.”_

_The Cowell nodded. “I’m willing to make an offer. Serve me for your remaining years and I’ll conjure a cure.”_

_“When you say—serve you? What does that mean exactly?” Drew questioned, rain in his lungs._

_“Well,” The Cowell said. “You’d do whatever I ask of you. Until you die.”_

_Drew’s jaw dropped. “But that’s slavery! You want me to agree to be your slave! That’s—so much!”  
_

_Thunder roared in the night. The Cowell didn’t rescind his offer. “If you don’t, I can assure you your son will die before the week is over. He’s not strong enough for his illness. He’s too young.”_

_Drew wept, praying for an answer. “If I serve you, then I’ll never know my son. He’ll never know_ me. _I’ll be trapped in the forest with you while he’s in the main kingdom, thinking his father left him and his mother when he was deathly ill. I don’t want him to think that of me. I don’t want him to not know how much he was loved.”_

_“Ah. There is something I can do to ensure your son learns your true intentions by his twenty-second year.”_

_Drew nodded, his heart weighed down by his sorrow. “And what would be the cost of that?”_

_“Kind thoughts,” The Cowell answered. “I’ll need your sword.”_

_Drew nodded and handed him the sword, unconvinced. He supposed he didn’t have much more to offer anyway._

_The Cowell ran his hand along the blade, murmuring incantations. It glowed yellow as he went, shining more and more brightly as the Cowell’s hand got closer to the hilt._

_Finally, he held it out in front of him, as if to inspect it._

_“Your son’s heart is pure, so I’ve enchanted this sword to explode backwards on anyone that kills for self-gratification.”_

_“How would this ensure that he learns of my intentions?” Drew asked, confused."Why does that matter?"  
_

_The Cowell had an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. “One day someone will try to kill someone your son loves very much. This will ensure your son’s happiness… Among others. And you will be there when it happens.”_

_“And I’ll see my son again.”_

_The Cowell’s eyes didn’t share Drew’s light. “Right. I’m not welcome in the main kingdom, so I expect you back here by sunrise.”_

_Drew’s heart sank. “That’s all the time I get to say goodbye?”_

_At the Cowell’s curt nod, Drew grabbed the outstretched sword._

_“Ah, don’t forget the potion,” the Cowell reminded him as he produced a baby bottle from midair. “Make sure he drinks every last drop.”_

_Drew felt a sharp pain at his ankle, but ignored it in favor of running as quickly as he could._

_Only minutes later, he arrived at the doorstep of his small cottage, the one he shared with his childhood sweetheart._

_He took a deep breath and stepped inside on his tiptoes, careful not to make too much noise. Inside, with a quilt thrown over her body and their tiny son clutched to her chest, Johannah was perched in a rocking chair snoring softly, worry showing through the sleep._

_Drew set the sword on top of a basket of folded clothes and dropped to his knees beside her. He kept his hands to himself, but he stared. He took in every facet of his wife and his son’s being, the crinkle at the corner of her eyes, the soft baby skin of Louis’ cheeks tinged red, the steady rise and fall of both of their chests._

_The seconds were trickling by._

_He grabbed the potion from his pocket and set it on the table as he pulled Louis from Johannah’s arms. She stirred and pulled the quilt higher up her chest, mumbling her thanks._

_Drew struggled to hold his tears in, not wanting his last few moments with his family to be clouded._

_Louis blinked his eyes open slowly but made no sound. Drew’s hands trembled as he looked down at his son._

_“You’re going to feel better soon, baby Lou. I promise,” Drew choked out as he brought the bottle to his son’s lips. Louis refused the potion at first and hid his face in Drew’s shoulder, but the sickness took all of the fight from him. He opened his mouth and accepted the potion, drinking slowly but without stop._

_“Good,” Drew silently wept, bouncing Louis to rock him back to sleep. He looked so exhausted, body limp and small in his arms._

_“You’re going to do so well,” he added on, hugging Louis close. He was babbling, constructing an ideal future he knew he had no part in anymore, but it was oddly therapeutic. “You’re going to be good to your mother. You’ll get a good job to help her out with the bills and help her with folding at the end of the day when her feet are killing her. And you’re going to be her favorite man—unless—until she remarries.”_

_Louis kicked at this, raising a tight fist as though he were capable of understanding. Drew let out a broken type of sob-laugh as Louis clutched at the soaked ends of his overgrown hair. The joy was short lived, though, as the sky began to turn from a solid black to a dark indigo._

_His time was up._

_Not keen on feeling the wrath of the Cowell on his first day of an eternity of servitude, he gave Louis one last forehead kiss and lay him back on Johanna’s chest. Her arms came up to hold him more securely in place. The crinkle between her eyebrows softened._

_“Goodbye, my love,” Drew sniffed out, willing himself to hold it together. “Take care of our son.”_

_*_

It’s silent in the room as Drew’s final words echo.

Louis stares down at the floor, Harry’s comforting fingertips pressed into his forearms. There’s so much going on inside of him that he can hardly feel them.

His whole life. He’s unfairly detested the man in front of him for his whole life.

The whole time, he’d been paying the price for Louis’ survival. And Louis has hated him, spit on his name, regarded him as no more than a sad sperm donor.

“I don’t—I don’t know what to say. That’s a lot to take in,” Louis admits, looking up into the familiar blue eyes, ones that have haunted his dreams unwittingly for years. “I believe you. I do. But I feel—I feel—undeserving. I’ve said so much—”

“Louis,” Drew’s expression changes into something softer, less worn by the years. “You’re in no way underserving. I’d do it a million times over. The highest points of my life have been catching glimpses of you in the forest. I lived for those. And seeing you now: strong, happy, _brave._ I’m so proud.”

Louis sniffles, a validation he never knew he’d been seeking tearing through him like a knife. “Thank you.”

“And now you know me. And out story. It killed me that you never knew me or thought I’d just left you and your mum. You’re so, so, so loved.”

Gemma blinks back into consciousness, giving Louis a much-needed moment to collect his thoughts. He can’t think as clearly with all eyes on him, tension and anticipation caving in on him. It’s a lot.

Harry reaches out for Gemma’s elbow.

“You alright, Gems?”

Gemma shakes her head, her eyes spooked. “I feel like it moved inside. It’s a rage inside, rather than out. I don’t like it.”

“That’s why you need to get to Zayn,” Drew says, his voice serious. “He lives in a cottage at the very center of the forest. The fairies can help you. They all know where he lives.”

“Zayn can break the curse?” Harry asks. “And get rid of the Cowell?”

“Don’t say that out loud!” Drew cautions. “I don’t know. But if anyone can, it would be him.”

The temperature grows colder, causing a collective shiver. Louis’ hand comes up to his heart, the ache intensifying.

“Where’s Blaire?” comes a loud voice through the double doors. “I’ve looked everywhere! And why’s it so cold?”

Gemma’s eyes light up instantly. “Niall?”

In clothes more casual than Louis has ever seen him in, Niall stands tall across the hall. Whereas Gemma was left wore for wear, Niall seems to be in perfect health. There’s something different, though. Something Louis can’t quite put his finger on.

Gemma pulls away from the group and runs his way, leaping into his arms once she reaches him.

Niall catches her, his eyes wide and confused. He pats at her back politely, his body language uncomfortable.

Louis’ heart sinks. Oh no.

“What’s going on?” Niall asks.

Gemma pulls back, shaking her head. “What are you talking about? Harry and Louis are here. They came to _save us._ Blaire’s gone. We’re free.”

“Oh no,” Niall’s eyebrows furrow. “Blaire’s gone? Where’d she go?”

Gemma covers her mouth with her hand, backing away. “That’s all you have to say to me? After this long? I haven’t seen you since our wedding night!”

“What?” Niall asks. And that’s when Louis realizes what’s gone. There’s none of the sparkle. There’s no warmth. Louis doesn’t recognize this Niall. “Who was married?”

Gemma sobs and sinks to the floor.

Drew looks down, his mouth set in a hard line. “We can see if Zayn can fix that as well, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Matters of love are complicated enough as it is.”

“Poor Gemma,” Louis frowns as Harry goes to help her up. “She’s just wanted Niall this whole time. And he hardly even seems to care.”

“You’re coming with us,” Harry warns Niall, a hand to Gemma’s shoulder to calm her. “We’re going to sort this out.”

“Are you going to come with us?” Louis asks Drew, almost nervous. “You can help us find Zayn. We can do it together.”

Drew smiles a small smile, relieved and a bit sad. “I can’t. I’ve pledged my life to the Cowell. I’m with him until one of us dies.”

“But what if we can’t kill him?” Louis asks. “Will I never see you again? What would happen then?”

“I’m always around,” Drew says, ignoring the final question. He pulls Louis into a hug, a hug that feels different from his mum’s, but also similar. It makes Louis feel small, loved, and cared for, important in a way hugs can’t always accomplish. Louis clings back, unwilling to let go.

“We’re coming back for you,” Louis promises. It seems unfair for him to finally meet his dad, only for him to be ripped from him again.

“I’m hoping for that,” Drew says.

And then he and Harry are off, back into the forest, a reluctant Niall and an inconsolable Gemma in tow.

~

With the Cowell’s departure, the forest changes. Where there used to be darkness, there is light. The nighttime doesn’t bring fear, but comfort. The trees sway rather than stand starkly still, the fairies freely tumble through the air, and there are twice as many rainbow bears roaming around than before.

It’s a relief because Niall and Gemma are, above all else, unpleasant.

“She wasn’t as bad as you’re making her out to be,” Niall shakes his head. It’s just the two of them, Louis making a fire while Niall uselessly lies beside him. Harry and Gemma are out by the stream, Harry having suggested they go try to catch some fish as Louis makes the fire.

He and Louis both know there aren’t any edible fish in the stream, but anything to separate Niall and Gemma is a good idea. Gemma’s temper is unpredictable on the average day, but with the added factor of her husband not quite remembering her and seeming to care for the witch that cursed her as a baby, she’s inconsolable. It doesn’t take much more than a word from Niall’s mouth to cause her eyes to glaze over.

Louis feels like he hasn’t properly spent time with Harry or Gemma in days.

“That’s only because you’re still under her curse,” Louis reminds him for the thousandth time.

“I’m not!” Niall protests. “I feel like I know my own brain better than you would! She really wasn’t bad. She was just sad. And lonely.”

“She literally tried to kill Harry. She might have been sad and lonely, but she’s just as bad as we’re making her out to be,” Louis tells him.

“You weren’t there!” Niall argues, but Louis can see the doubt in his eyes as he speaks. “She treated me fairly! And she cared about the Queen _and_ the Cowell!”

“She didn’t care for her sister,” Louis sighs. His sticks won’t light, the forest more lush and green than before. He throws them to the side and gives up.

“She did care for her! Why else would she have had a mirror that showed her what she was up to all day? She spent most of her time holed up in her room keeping watch of her! She cared about her.”

Louis isn’t sure whether it’s creepier that Niall sees nothing wrong with that, or that he thinks it means she cared for her.

“Did you spend a lot of time with her?” Louis asks. He lies back and closes his eyes, exhausted by Niall’s constant clouded gloom.

“Of course I did. She didn’t care for anyone else in the kingdom. I was the only one who made her happy.”

“You spent a lot of time with her but she spent a lot of that time stalking her estranged sister?” Louis presses.

“Not just her sister. The Cowell too. But,” Niall frowns. “When you put it like that it sounds bad. She wasn’t bad though.”

“Was she good to her people? Why was she good, Niall? Tell me.”

“She made sure everyone stayed out of the forest. Because it was dangerous. She cared about their safety.”

Louis shakes his head. “Because she cared or because she didn’t want anyone to leave her?”

Niall’s bleary eyes blink. “She wasn’t bad.”

“Whatever you say, Niall.”

~

Careful not to cause any more unnecessary jealousy, Louis waits on the floor beside Niall once they all settle down for sleep. But once Niall and Gemma are both snoring, Louis crawls over to Harry.

“Scoot over,” he whispers, fingers pressing to his shoulders.

Harry makes room, lets Louis curl his body around him once they’re both situated.

Louis presses a kiss to his cheek. “Missed you.”

“You won’t miss me soon,” Harry smiles. “Zayn’s close.”

Louis nods into Harry’s shoulder. They ran into Jade earlier and she’d confirmed the fact.

“That’s a lot of pressure for one person, right? We’re asking too much of Zayn,” Louis worries. “We’re relying on him for so much—Niall’s memory, Gemma’s stability, the entire _kingdom’s_ safety. It’s a lot.”

“He’s a good guy, though. He saved me without asking anything in return. I don’t know why he wouldn’t want to help,” Harry tells him.

“I wonder if Zayn knows my dad,” Louis says, hesitating. It hits him at random moments and makes it difficult to breathe. He knows his dad. “I wonder if he knew he was in the forest with us when we met him.”

Harry pulls away a bit, brushes Louis’ hair from his eyes to look at him. “We’re going to get him. Soon.”

Much too quickly, Louis sighs and crawls back to Niall, his side growing cold.

~

“This way!” Perrie giggles, back flipping through the air. “Zayn is going to be so delighted! He has so few visitors!”

“He’s not going to be upset that we’re coming without notice?” Harry asks.

“No, no, no! Of course not. Unless he’s in the middle of a difficult potion, but he would have told us if he were! We’re fine!” Perrie sing-songs.

Gemma watches Perrie with narrowed eyes, biting her lip.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks her, his voice a whisper.

“It’s silly,” she shakes her head. “It’s not worth being upset over. I’m trying not to be upset.”

“About what?”

Gemma’s eyes cross over the fairy’s wings, a scowl growing as Perrie lets out another delighted giggle. “Her freedom.”

Perrie’s wings flutter then slow. She allows Gemma and Harry to catch up to her.

“You’re almost there, Princess. Zayn will fix you up in no time!” Perrie grins, but moments later disdain crosses her features, sudden and jarring. “He’s _much_ more powerful than that wench ever was, anyway.”

Niall begins to berate her, but Perrie cuts him off. Thankfully.

“Oh! Over there, do you see?” she instantly lights up again. “The cottage there! With the ivy and the smoke coming from the chimney! Oh dear, perhaps he _is_ brewing tonight! Well, he’ll be excited for the company either way. Follow me!”

Perrie flips forward and they all follow.

She knocks on the door and yells through. “Zayn! Zayn, we have visitors!”

~


	12. The Companions

_~_

_At Anne’s words, Blaire exploded. It was quick, a culmination of always being put second to another when all she wanted was to be first. She hated Anne. She hated the child in her womb that was being put before her. She hated that Anne had deemed her untrustworthy when she had_ just _saved her life._

_Perhaps Simon was onto more than he knew._

_She cast the curse quickly, the force of it sending her flying back a few feet. Anne cried out in pain for a second time, clutching at her stomach and panting._

_“My baby! What have you done to her?”_

_Blaire smiled. “You’ll figure it out.”_

_And with that, she took her leave._

_~_

**The Companions**

~

“Who’s visiting?” Zayn’s voice answers. A lock clicks and the door swings halfway open, revealing a suspicious-looking sorcerer. His hair is frizzed at the sides and there’s a sheen of sweat along his forehead.

Perrie flutters past Zayn’s shoulder, dropping glitter as she goes. “These people! They need help so I brought them to you! Oh dear. You’re not busy, are you?”

Zayn hesitates in the doorway. “I’m always busy. But I can try to help.”

He swings the door open fully and gestures inside to let them all through.

“Thank you,” Louis takes charge and enters first, desperate to get everyone sorted out as quickly as possible. He can’t live around an upset Gemma and uncaring Niall for any longer.

The cottage is cluttered and warm, a fire crackling in the fireplace and glass vials littering every available surface. They cover the sofa, the small table, the cracks between books in the bookshelf, and even atop the fireplace’s mantle.

“Sorry,” Zayn mumbles as he clears space on the sofa, moving the vials to the table. “I don’t normally have many visitors other than fairies.”

“And if that’s everything, then I must be going! Jade and I are going to bother Leigh-Anne until she tells us what happened with her and that big griffin! Toodles!” With that, Perrie somersaults out the open window.

Zayn leans against a large, unused cauldron placed before the sofa, eyeing Niall with narrowed eyes.

There’s only enough room on the sofa for three, so Louis leans against the arm. Out of Gemma’s view, obstructed by Niall, Harry rubs a finger along Louis’ lower back, calming and light. He tries to keep his smile to himself.

“How much do you know about curses?” Louis asks, getting to the point.

“Much more than you,” Zayn answers.

“How much is—”

“You,” Zayn interrupts Louis, pointing to Niall. “You’re magic.”

Niall blinks out of his blank stare. “What? Me?”

Zayn nods. “You can do magic.”

Niall looks genuinely taken aback. “I know they’re saying my memory’s confused, but I know I’ve never done any magic in my whole entire life. Wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“You two are still in love,” Zayn continues, nodding to Louis, ignoring Niall’s objection. “That’s nice.”

Harry’s fingers pause. Gemma lets out an unhappy sigh and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh,” Zayn’s face falls. “There’s a problem.”

“That’s an understatement,” Gemma whimpers.

Zayn shakes his head. “I can’t help you with love. Figure that out on your own.”

“But it isn’t a matter of love. It’s a matter of a curse _interfering_ with their love,” Louis tries to explain. “Surely you can help with that!”

“Hm…” Zayn grips the edge of his cauldron, leaning back with a curious glint in his eyes. “I’m interested. Tell me what’s going on.”

After an argued explanation of four very differing stories (Gemma insisting that Niall’s been compromised as Niall loudly argues over her that she’s been misled and Louis and Harry trying to fill in all of the necessary background information) Zayn holds his hands out for silence.

“So, this is what you’re telling me. Gemma’s curse is oldest. Niall’s spell hasn’t been much longer than a month. He’s never made her curse flare up before _now._ You want me to help. And you expect me to also somehow know how to kill the Cowell. When I’ve lived beside him for years and never touched him,” Zayn clarifies.

“Um…” Louis looks down at his dirty fingernails. “We’re here to help brainstorm ideas that you can execute. Using magic. Because we don’t know any and the Cowell does. And we need to overthrow him.”

Zayn breathes deep and closes his eyes. “Niall. You’ll be the easiest. A month isn’t long enough for a spell to seep into the bone marrow.”

“I haven’t been cursed,” Niall tries to argue, but Zayn holds up a hand, silencing him.

“I didn’t say you were cursed. I said a spell. I think it was a spell. One that affected your memory and subdued your magic.”

“That doesn’t explain him…” Harry trails off, eyeing Gemma warily. “He was cursed. Falling in love with a witch has to be a curse.”

At his words, Gemma lets out a sob.

Zayn sends her a sympathetic glance. “Loneliness can be a curse in itself. It can come with its own consequences, like falling in love with the wrong person.”

Gemma groans and her eyes glaze over.

Zayn’s eyebrows lift and, without hesitancy, he drops down to his knees in front of her. He grabs her wrist with one hand, checking her pulse as he opens her left eye wide and peers deep into it.

“Give me that vial,” Zayn orders Louis, pointing above the fire. “The one with the pink potion. And the blue one on the table. Quickly! She’s in pain.”

Louis hurries, grabbing three different blue vials in his confusion, unable to make the decision. Zayn grabs the pink potion from him with a nod of thanks. He pours the half of the vial into a larger bottle he produces with a wave of his arm.

“The lightest blue now, please,” Zayn requests once he’s done with the pink. Louis hands it over, then steps back to give him space. He pours only a quarter of the blue into the bottle, then caps the bottle and mumbles under his breath. He flicks his wrist in a counter-clockwise rotation, stirring it until it’s a nice lavender color.

“Move,” Zayn orders Niall once he tears the cap from the bottle, shooing Niall to the side. Niall stands and knocks into Louis, but Harry grabs his wrist, steadying him.

Zayn opens Gemma’s jaw with some difficulty, then tips the potion into her mouth and leans her head back.

She swallows it down but her eyes stay glazed, her hands shaking.

“That didn’t help,” Harry says. Louis massages the back of his neck, sympathetic to Harry’s trembling lip. He hates seeing Gemma like this, too.

“Next time I’ll add a dash of Baharat,” Zayn mumbles to himself, fingers glued to Gemma’s wrist again. “That’ll speed it up. She’ll come to soon.”

And finally, after what feels like the longest minute of Louis’ entire life, she does.

“How are you feeling?” Zayn asks as her eyes blink back into awareness. She sniffles and winces, brushing a stray piece of hair from his forehead.

“Not terrible,” she says. “My mouth tastes like bile, though.”

“Next brew will taste a little bit better,” Zayn reassures her.

“Next brew?” she asks. “Will the next brew break the curse for good?”

Zayn shakes his head, grimacing. “If she’s dead, then there’s no way. The curse is too deep. I can’t reverse it.”

Gemma bursts into another round of tears.

“No, no, no,” Zayn looks taken aback. He takes pause before he wraps an arm around her shoulder, aiming for comfort. “That doesn’t mean you’ll feel like this all the time. The potion made you feel better, right?”

Gemma nods, but the tears don’t stop.

“It’s really, really easy to make. I can give you a bottle of it and you can drink it in the mornings and you’ll feel fine. No more pain. And you’d only have to take it once a day.”

“Are you sure?” Gemma asks, clearly skeptical. “Every morning? Is that safe?”

Zayn nods earnestly. “Of course it’s safe. It’ll be good for you, actually. The stress and pain of these episodes aren’t good for your body.”

Gemma’s tears slow. “I can’t believe this. I’ve wanted to be cured for my whole life and all I had to do was meet you?”

Zayn’s expression turns fearful. “No. It would have been dangerous for me to go against another’s curse while Blaire was alive and the Cowell was the most powerful being in the forest. It’s the right time now.”

“Thank you,” Gemma sobs, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. He pats her back, his smile tight.

“You’re quite welcome,” Zayn tells her. He eventually eases her away from him, clearly uncomfortable.

Louis thumbs away Harry’s echoing tears of joy.

“Now for _Niall,”_ Zayn stands and ambles over to his table of assorted potions. He sifts through the different vials, lifting a few to get a closer look.

“What about me?” Niall asks. He takes his spot back on the sofa, beside a Gemma who no longer looks fearful at looking at him straight on. It eases a bit of the restlessness in Louis’ heart.

“Since you’ve magic inside you, I wanted to try something out.” Zayn sorts through his vials and settles on a glowing yellow potion. “This one. It strengthens your inner sorcerer. I think you could beat the spell without any intervention from me.”

“Wouldn’t that be intervention?” Louis asks.

_“Quiet,”_ Zayn tells him. He hands the potion over to Niall. “Drink up, then. See if you remember anything new. See if you feel powerful.”

“I wasn’t cursed,” Niall rolls his eyes before tipping the potion back. His face scrunches up immediately. “Ugh! Tastes like rotten milk.”

“You try brewing a potion that works,” Zayn fires back. The anger only last for a moment though, evolving quickly into curiosity. “Feel anything new?”

Niall waits a few moments to answer, pinching himself as a test. “The same. But with a mouth that tastes like rotten milk.”

“Hm,” Zayn’s jaw tenses. His eyes are calculating as he gravitates back to the side of his cauldron. “That’s not what I though would happen.”

“I told you! There’s no curse! She was a nice woman!” Niall throws his hands out.

Louis looks to Gemma in alarm, but she’s still protected by the potion. She remains calm.

“You’ve never caused Gemma to be angry before being captured by the witch?” Zayn asks Niall after a tense few moments of contemplation.

Niall’s fingers flex in exasperation. “I don’t rememb—”

“Never,” Gemma answers for him. “I’ve never been out of control because of something he’s done. Never before now.”

Zayn taps his finger against his thigh as he thinks it over. “Maybe… maybe you bring out the magic in him. Maybe that’s why you’ve been safe from yourself when he was around. But how to use that to break the spell…”

“What if I kissed him?” Gemma asks, brightening up at the prospect. “Maybe that would bring out his magic.”

“That’s silly,” Zayn shakes his head. “Anyone can kiss another. That isn’t special enough.”

Gemma is only slightly deterred. “Well… I don’t think he’d consent to—”

“I didn’t mean _that!”_ Zayn says, his face brightening. “I meant there’s so many more ways to show love. There are more dominant acts than a kiss. Blaire was powerful; a kiss wouldn’t awaken his magic.”

“What about if I told him all of our good memories of when we were together? Maybe it would spark something—”

“No,” Zayn says, his voice clipped. “Words mean nothing. What’s your favorite memory? That would be of more help.”

“Probably the day we were married. Before we were kidnapped,” Gemma replies tearfully. She looks down to Niall’s ring finger, sniffling at the white knuckle, the spot where his missing ring belongs.

“What if…” Zayn follows her gaze, his eyes out of focus. “What if he slipped your ring back on _your_ finger? That might awaken his memory. That could work. Symbols and a physical connection. That’s good.”

“We’re not married,” Niall reminds them all. “It wouldn’t work.”

Harry’s body tenses beneath Louis’ grip.

“If it doesn’t work, then there’s no reason not to rule it out,” Zayn tells Niall, giving Harry a warning glance.

“Fine!” Niall gives up. “Give me the ring!”

Gemma slips the silver band from her finger. She places the ring in Niall’s palm and lets her hand linger, nerves apparent on her face. “Please don’t break my heart.”

“Let’s stand,” Zayn orders everyone. “Like in a ceremony.”

They all follow Zayn's instruction, watching with halted breath as Niall continues to hold Gemma’s hand in his. “Like this?”

“Maybe say _I do,”_ Zayn suggests, watching shrewdly. “Accuracy’s sake.”

“I do,” Niall rolls his eyes. And then he slips the ring onto Gemma’s finger.

“And now you should give her a kiss,” Zayn urges him.

“What? I thought there would be no kissing!” Niall complains.

“I said it wouldn’t work on its own, not that it wouldn’t _help,”_ Zayn argues back. “You kissed her in the ceremony, you could kiss her now. Accuracy’s sake.”

“Jesus,” Niall sighs, but he leans in anyway.

Louis’ heart flutters.

Immediately, the room glows a deep gold and seems to shift a few inches off its axis. Louis feels as though the sun is shining within him, a smile forming on his face. The unease he’s felt around Niall for the past few days dissipates, replaced with a calm Louis has been missing terribly.

Harry grabs his hand and pulls him close, both giggling as Niall’s arms wrap around Gemma, pulling her closer as they kiss. He grips her closer than he did at their first ceremony, rubbing up and down her back as they both make sounds of happy satisfaction.

“Ah. Excellent,” Zayn grins, sagging back onto his cauldron’s edge. “That’ll be the magic’s return.”

Louis gives Harry a kiss of his own, giddy with the realization that the annoying separation they’ve had to keep for Gemma’s sake is finally over. The kiss is hardly a kiss, more of two smiles pressed into each other, but it’s one of Louis’ favorite they’ve shared so far.

Niall and Gemma finally separate, but they only have eyes for each other.

“You remember!” Gemma smiles, skin glowing, more radiant than ever. “It was the kiss, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t just the kiss,” Zayn says.

“It was the kiss,” Niall agrees easily, leaning in for one more. His eyes are closed and his smile is wide when they break apart. “I love you. I don’t think I ever could have forgotten! Of course I love you.”

“You’ll never forget me again,” Gemma pokes him in the chest, but doesn’t let him pull away from her. “That was _terrible!_ You’re my favorite and you weren’t even excited to see me!”

“I’m your favorite,” Harry mumbles. Not wanting him to ruin the moment, Louis pinches him and gives him a stern glare.

But Gemma doesn’t spare him a glance. Niall is back to his normal self, luminous.

“I’m sorry,” Niall tells Gemma, squeezing her hands between them. He bumps their noses together. Louis hopes he wasn’t that obnoxious with Harry when they were reunited after being tied up. “Everything after we were kidnapped feels blurry now, like everything before felt blurry. It’s flipped.”

Louis spares a glance at Zayn, who’s watching both pairs from his cauldron. Louis’ smile dims at the faint reluctance he sees in Zayn’s expression, at the smile that looks tight and almost forced.

Louis will pry later. He’s too busy feeling relieved that two of three problems were solved within an hour.

“Maybe it’s time we brainstorm?” Zayn suggests quietly, averting his eyes from the scene.

“Can we do it later?” Gemma asks.

Not wanting to get behind schedule, Louis makes a suggestion. “Why don’t you two take it outside and Harry and I will plan with Zayn?”

Nodding easily, she and Niall scurry out the door.

Louis reluctantly separates from Harry and sinks into a couch cushion. He pats the center seat, nodding to Zayn. “Come on, then. Let’s all think.”

Zayn joins him, Harry settling in after him.

“There’s a reason I wanted this last. The Cowell isn’t an easy target,” Zayn starts off. “He’s good at reading peoples’ intentions and their thoughts. You won’t be able to just come up behind him and stick a sword through his back. It’ll be much more difficult than that.”

“We’ve lost our sword, anyway,” Louis tells him. “I think something less messy would be better.”

“How do you kill someone who’s inhuman?” Harry asks. His expression is focused, eyebrows furrowed as they get when he’s being serious and planning strategy.

“He’s human,” Zayn states firmly. “Barely, but he's human.”

“Oh,” Harry says, surprised. “What about the—the red…”

“That’s what happens when you steal ten years of someone’s life. Too much blood in his body,” Zayn explains.

_Too much_ makes it sound like a weakness.

“Could we use that to our advantage?” Louis asks. “Is he immortal until the extra blood runs out? Zayn, how does that work?”

“I don’t exactly know!” Zayn exclaims. “I brew potions and I’m here for the proper use of magic, not the misuse of it. I try not to use it for destruction.”

“Could you brew a poison?” Harry suggests, his eyes cautious. “If it’s extra blood in him, then a poison could get through the extra years, too, maybe?”

“He’d see you coming. He’d know what you were trying to do,” Zayn shoots him down. “He can hear loud thoughts.”

“But a poison _could_ kill him?” Harry asks.

“Possibly. Probably. I think I know of one that could do it,” Zayn confirms. “ _But_ unless you’ve trained yourself in blocking probing minds, you’ll never get it to him.”

“Niall’s magical, right? Maybe he could get it to him,” Harry says.

“His thoughts are screams,” Zayn shakes his head, sighing. “I couldn’t get _free me_ out of my mind from the moment he walked in.

“How come?” Louis asks. “Mr. Potions Only?”

Zayn’s cheeks turn a bit pink. “I didn’t want the Cowell to know what I was brewing! I’m not a voyeur. It’s just difficult to turn off.”

Louis lets that statement brew over, simmer. He shares a knowing glance with Harry, both thinking the same thing.

“Zayn… You could kill him. Nobody else here has studied the mind.” 

“No!” Zayn stands and tugs at his hair before gripping the edge of his cauldron with white knuckles, his back to them. Louis leans back, cowering away. He’s never seen Zayn look so angry. “I’ve never killed someone. I won’t do that. I promised I would _never_ do that.”

Harry finds his voice. “But the Cowell isn’t even really a person—”

“He is! I said I’d never use my magic for bad when I left home. Killing someone is bad, even if it _is_ the Cowell. I can’t kill someone.”

“But you’ll be saving so many lives,” Harry argues. “He’s going to try to kill my parents. He’s going to try to kill me! And everyone in _Over_ is in pain!”

Zayn doesn’t turn around, but he freezes. He peers down into his cauldron, the muscles of his back and shoulders flexing.

“Pain? What kind of pain?” Zayn asks, his voice quiet.

“It felt like ice in the chest,” Louis says.

Zayn lets out a soft groan and lets his head fall forward.

“Grab me the white potion. It’s behind the bookcase. Hidden.”

Louis stands on numb legs and retrieves it for him without much difficulty. He hands it over and Zayn wraps his fingers around the vial, sighing deeply. He doesn’t look up from his cauldron.

“I need fairy blood,” Zayn finally says.

“Excuse me?” Louis asks, feeling as though he was punched. Fairy blood? No. Never. “What about ant blood? Like we used before.”

“Ant blood isn’t magical enough. This isn’t for an infection. This is to kill the _Cowell._ I need fairy blood.”

“How much blood?” Louis asks, distraught. Fairies are so small. Perrie is a tiny little thing. He couldn’t take a drop of blood from her.

Zayn waves his hand and conjures a small vial. “To the top. And I need it from a purple fairy.”

“Why purple?” Louis asks. “Why a fairy? Why can’t we use someone else’s blood? We could use mine. I have a lot more than a f—”

Zayn blinks away a tear. “We need a purple fairy’s blood because they’re tainted with hatred already. You’re not magical, anyway.”

“Surely there’s another way,” Harry complains. “I don’t want to hurt a fairy, especially a _purple one_ that already has such a bad perception of humans. We can’t worsen that relationship.”

“It’s not enough to kill them,” Zayn says. “If you explain why you need the blood, they might give it to you voluntarily.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Louis asks.

Zayn looks up and wipes below his eye.

“It’s worth a try, at least.”

~ 

After bypassing Niall and Gemma (basking in the sunlight like a couple of lovesick teenagers) Louis and Harry turn in the direction of the lowering sun. The purple fairies stay in the biggest tree in the forest, one that Zayn says is close, and they want to reach it by nightfall.

“They’re going to kill us for asking,” Louis sighs. “I don’t even want to ask. I don’t want fairy blood on my hands.”

They make it to the patch of high, yellowing grass, just as Zayn said they would. They wade through, ignoring the grumpy sighs of the dew-bugs as they brush past them.

“If we tell them we mean no harm and that it’ll be for the good of everyone, then they can’t be upset with us for asking. It’s not like we’re going to force them into giving it to us,” Harry reasons.

“How would you feel if someone asked to take a third of you blood from your body?” Louis asks. “I think I’d be upset. I don’t think I’d just say _okay_ like it was a favor.”

“It’s different with me, though. I hate blood,” Harry sends Louis a twitching smile, the one that means he’s going to make a terrible joke. “I’d faint before they even got to the end of the sentence. ”

Louis lets himself smile unashamedly, lets the spot of lightheartedness brighten his day. It’s a welcome distraction after non-stop stress, a moment of happiness that Louis wants to bury himself in. He grabs Harry’s hand and swings their arms between them. “Give yourself a bit more credit. I think you’d last until they actually got the knife out.”

Harry shoves at his shoulder but doesn’t let go.

Louis smiles and allows himself to enjoy walking through the grass with the man he loves. He doesn’t think about the future, the distant or the impending, and he doesn’t think about the past. He focuses on Harry’s fingers laced between his, on the warmth of the setting sun on his face, and the tickling of the grass as they walk.

He focuses on the absence of the overwhelming fear he felt when the Cowell was the ruler of the forest. Under Zayn’s reign, there is peace.

“You know, it’s kind of nice. Just me and you right now. Like before,” Louis says to Harry.

The sun sets the scene in a glowing golden that Louis would find romantic at any other time.

Harry bites his lip, but his dimple shows through. He stops in the middle of the grass and pulls Louis in closer to him. “Are you saying it hasn’t been nice having my sister along for the walk?”

“It was all Niall,” Louis denies. He squeezes at Harry’s waist, warm where their bodies slot together. “Such a drag. Boring and dull. Gemma’s great.”

“I love when it’s just me and you too,” Harry agrees, leaning in for a kiss. He breaks it quickly, and then presses his forehead to Louis’, closing his eyes. “I mean, I love you in general all the time, but it’s harder to kiss you when everyone’s watching.”

Louis tries not to let his spirits plummet. That doesn't sounds promising.

“Is it weird that I trust Zayn?” Harry carries on. “I’ve never been more confident that we’re going to make it back home. Never more than now.”

“I trust him too,” Louis whispers, Harry’s face too close to stay in focus. “I just don’t trust fairies.”

“Shh,” Harry shushes him with a kiss. “I’m trying to make a beautiful speech. Forget the fairies for a minute.”

“How can I—” Harry cuts him off again with a finger to his lips. Louis nibbles at it, giggling at the way it makes Harry hesitate.

“It’s something I’ve wanted to talk to you about for a while. And I wanted to talk about it before we’re so happy that we can’t think straight, because I mean it. I _meant_ it before, and I think you did too. It’s just… you know more about me than anyone else. I told you about Gemma, and you were there with her when she needed us, and you were right there with _me._ And I don’t think there’s anyone that loves me enough to go on a possible suicide mission just to make sure I’m okay. You’ve saved my life more times than you know.”

“Harry…” Louis shakes his head. “You’ve saved me too. It’s mutual.”

Harry lets out a frustrated huff, like Louis isn’t getting it. “I know how you kiss when you think it’s going to be your last one. I know that your room is messy even though you kept mine clean, and that you knew I was jealous of everyone who got to kiss you before me. You’ve seen my ugly crying face and can tell when I'm lying. You don’t care that I can’t sword fight to save my life, and you still love me despite being brash and cowardly, and I've spent my life since I was a kid with you, and I’m going to marry you eventually. I _know_ I’m going to. And I know maybe it’s not what my mum wants, and maybe it’s unconventional, but we’re good together. We both want each other.”

“I’m going to marry you too,” Louis tells him, his eyes wet as he looks deep into Harry’s. “It’s always been you and me. I don’t want it to change. It’s not going to change.”

Harry’s answering smile is radiant, as blinding as the setting sun. “Yes.”

“You say that like I asked a question,” Louis laughs, tears falling freely. “I didn’t.”

“Neither did I,” Harry points out, tears in his own eyes. “But I think we both gave answers.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Louis whispers, breathless. “Neither of us have a ring.”

“We don’t need rings,” Harry says. He brings Louis’ hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckle, exactly where a ring would sit. “For this to be real.” 

~

By the time they reach the looming tree, the sun has long since set. They celebrated their pseudo-engagement properly, and Louis feels as though he has dew-bugs in places they don’t belong.

“Here?” Louis asks. At his words, the tree thrums with life, unintelligible whispers from within sounding.

“I think so,” Harry says. He steps forward and raps his knuckles against the splintered wood, his other hand growing clammy with nerves against Louis’.

The whispers pause. From the overgrown leaves, a lavender fairy emerges.

He flutters down, larger and more menacing than any fairy Louis has ever seen. He has overgrown nails and sharp, vampire fangs. He settles down on a low branch.

“What are you doing here?” the fairy asks.

Harry visibly hesitates, so Louis steps towards the fairy himself. Harry stands shaking behind him. “Um, hello. We’re trying to kill the Cowell.”

The fairy blinks. “I don’t see how that affects me. Why are you here?”

“Well,” Louis gulps, heart pounding as the fairy glares down at him with his imperious smirk. There’s no easy way to make their request sound non-threatening. “Because, you see. We’re trying to brew a potion. And we need an ingredient.”

The fairy crosses his arms over his chest. He looks more menacing than any creature Louis has seen in the forest since their return. “And you want my help?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be you specifically. But… we need a fairy’s help. Yes.”

“And why is this?” the fairy asks, skeptical.

Louis feels a chill go up his spine. He’s never felt so unsafe since their return, either.

“We need fairy blood,” Harry speaks up for him. “Just a little bit. A donation, if you will. To get rid of the Cowell for good.”

The fairy’s cheeks deepen in color, turning a terrifying shade of plum. “I don’t know why you’d think that an appropriate request, especially after what your _aunt_ has done to us! There will be no more fairy blood shed on a human’s account! None!”

Harry holds his arms out, placating, as a few fairies emerge from the leaves, joining the ringleader on his low-hanging branch.

“We don’t want to hurt you! We won’t! We won’t take anything against your will, but you’ll be saving so many people!” Harry tries to reason with them.

“You shouldn’t have made it past the bridge,” the fairy sneers. “We made that to keep fairy-traitors like you away from us! You should be at the bottom of the river!”

“They’re going to kill my family!” Harry shouts, crying out in pain as the outraged fairies descend upon him and Louis. The claw at their skin and scalp, overgrown nails digging into their skin. Louis tries to fight off the fairies, but there are too many of them. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to cover his neck, protecting the artery.

Harry lets out a shout and manages to pry a fairy’s fingers from his mouth. “The Cowell is hurting the people of _Over_ right now and they’re coming for my kingdom next!”

The lavender fairy holds his palm up to halt the fairies’ attack.

“Your mother as well? Anne will be harmed?”

“Yes. Of course. She’s first, probably,” Harry squeaks, touching below his eye gently, wiping away blood.

The fairy leader’s eyes lower. “She’s the only decent human out there. I don’t want her dead.”

Louis lets out a breath of relief. “You can save her.”

“You can! We don’t need much blood, either. And I have a knife here,” Harry goes to pull out the knife they brought along from Zayn’s.

Immediately, the fairy leader zooms down to Harry and grabs him by the throat, bringing him down to the ground.

The fairy squeezes tight, shoving his hand forward as his knees dig into Harry’s chest. “Don’t pull a knife on us! What are you thinking?”

Harry tries to gurgle out a response, his face turning blue.

“He wasn’t going to use it on you!” Louis squeaks, reaching out to pull the fairy off of Harry. He can’t watch Harry die by the hands of a fairy only hours after getting half-engaged.

Harry’s survived a deadly infection and a sword fight with a powerful witch. Louis won’t let him go down because of a fairy.

Once Louis sets his hands on him to pull him away, the fairy turns, his sharp nails out and aimed directly for his neck.

But before he can stab Louis, they’re distracted by a grey horse that appears from out of the brush, charging their way. The horse leaps into the air only inches from crushing Harry’s face into the floor, and his hoof collides with the side of the fairy’s head. The hit sends him spiraling to the floor, turning over and over like a carriage racing down a hill.

The horse gallops away before any fairies can descend upon him, all too shocked.

The fairy looks so sad and pathetic sprawled out on the ground alone, so small.

Louis rushes over to the him, gently picking him up from the ground. There’s blood dripping from his nose and his cheek is bruised beyond recognition.

“My husband,” another fairy cries, fluttering Louis’ way. She drops heavily onto Louis’ shoulder, shaking with sobs. Purple tears drop down onto his shirt as she lets out a strangled call in a language Louis doesn’t recognize.

The rest of the fairies slowly flutter down closer to take in the scene, tears of their own streaming down their faces.

“You can collect it,” the fairy’s wife says from his shoulder, her voice thick and bitter. “To save Anne. I think he’d want that. He wouldn’t want it to be a waste.”

Louis wants to argue, but it’s bigger than any of them. He gives the fairy a thankful, slow nod as Harry comes up behind him, a hand to his hip. Harry brings the vial beneath the bleeding fairy’s nose. Blood trickles in as his hooded eyes flicker between understanding and unconsciousness.

Soon after the vial is sealed and full, the tall grass begins to rustle. Out flutters Perrie and Jade, trailed by two other fairies that Louis recognizes as their friends.

“Who’s hurt?” Perrie asks, but her eyes quickly fall to the lax fairy in Louis’ arms.

“He touched the floor,” Louis says sadly, echoing everyone’s grief.

Fairies aren’t meant to touch the floor. It weakens them greatly.

Perrie gasps and throws a hand over her mouth in shock. She hurries to the action, taking Louis’ free shoulder.

Perrie touches the fairy leader's face gently, fingers ghosting through the blood below his nose and stopping the flow. There’s resolve in her expression, purpose as she presses her palm to the fairy’s chest.

Everyone watches, the forest silent around them as they wait for a prognosis.

In a sudden burst of movement, she smiles in satisfaction. She waves over her fairy friends but keeps one hand to the fairy’s chest.

“Louis, lie down. We all need to touch him,” Perrie orders him.

Louis allows himself to be used like an operating table, Perrie, Jade, Leigh-Anne, Jesy, and the fairy leader all perched upon Louis’ chest. The fairy changes shades as the pink fairies chant under their breath, their eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

Minutes later, he finally rises, his wings flapping slowly as he glows silver.

Perrie squeaks and claps her hands, glitter dropping onto Louis’ chest as she back flips through the air. “Oh, good!”

Sensing that the fairy is having difficulty staying afloat, Louis sits up and takes him into his arms. “Did you want to sit on the branch?”

The fairy nods and allows Louis to carry him safely there. He makes sure he's secure against the tree trunk.

Scratching behind his neck, Louis apologizes. “Sorry this turned into such a mess. Are you feeling alright? Do you need me to get you anything? I'm really sorry.”

“Keep Anne safe,” the fairy says, his eyes closed.

His wife flutters down to drop beside him, her eyes cold and avoidant.

“Go save the kingdom,” she says, dismissing them. “And don’t come back.”

~ 

Once he and Harry are out of the fairy’s earshot, the vial of blood stowed safely in Louis’ pocket, Harry cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Sam!”

Harry drops his hands and listens, but there are no sounds of galloping hooves coming their way.

“That was Sam,” Harry says confidently. “Sam saved us. That was him.”

“Let’s get this to Zayn before we worry about anything else.”

~ 

The poison only has to simmer overnight, so the next morning, Harry, Louis, Gemma, Niall, and Zayn all set out in the direction of _Over._

Louis finds himself alone with Zayn, gathering berries from a bush. Gemma and Niall are taking a dip in the stream and Harry is attempting to start a fire by the sleeping area. Louis can see Harry doing his best as he sneaks a peek of him over the bushes, and the sudden remembrance that he’s going to _marry_ Harry strikes through him like lightning.

But the white-hot sizzle is cooled as Zayn’s elbow bumps into him. Zayn, lonely Zayn who lives in the forest by himself and only has fairies for regular company.

He’s remained quiet for the duration of their journey, the small bottle of poison dancing through his fingers every step of the way. His eyebrows are permanently turned down, troubled and distant.

Louis pats him on the back, hesitant to push Zayn’s limits. “Thanks for coming with us. We couldn’t do this without you.”

Zayn gives him a small smile. “I knew it had to happen. You need me.”

“Can I ask you something?” Louis presses, encouraged by the smile.

“Hesitation has never stopped you before.”

Louis wants to argue, but there’s nothing to argue against. He asks instead. “Before, you said you promised you’d never use your magic for bad. When you left... home? I was just wonder how’d you end up here? And why you’re all alone?”

“Ah,” Zayn nods, but he doesn’t shy away from the question as Louis expected. “I assume you’re familiar with the land from across the sea? And the sorcerer that lives there?”

Louis nods, because he is. Everyone knows.

“I’m from there. But the sorcerer decided there was only enough room for one magical person in his kingdom. And when I was younger, whenever there was someone who publicly showed any bit of magical ability, they’d mysteriously go missing once they turned to the sorcerer for guidance. I kept my magic hidden until I couldn’t anymore. And then I told my parents.”

“Were they upset?” Louis digs.

“No, just worried. They told me I couldn’t tell anyone. That worked for about a year, but my magic grew. It became too strong and I couldn't stop it. I knew the sorcerer would be able to tell just by looking at me. So I talked to my parents and they agreed that moving me somewhere safer would be a good idea.”

“So you just left?” Louis asks, heartbroken.

“I snuck aboard a ship and got off the first stop. I got shy, though, when we landed. So even though the forest was terrifying, I ran in here. It seemed less scary than the main kingdom. There are so many people.”

Louis drops his berries to the floor in shock. “The kingdom isn’t scary. You’ve helped us so much—there’s definitely a spot for you there. I feel like the Queen would _prefer_ some good magic on her side, even. Zayn, you—”

“I like it in the forest,” Zayn tells him. “I love the fairies. And I can brew in peace. And the trees are pretty. I don’t mind it, really. This is my home.”

“You’re lonely,” Louis argues. “Your only companions being fairies isn’t reasonable.”

Zayn lowers his head. “It’s a life I enjoy. Potions make me happy.”

Not wanting an argument, Louis accepts it.

~ 

With Zayn’s direction, the journey back _Over_ is much shorter. Within a few days, the castle’s gloomy form is visible.

Louis’ body feels the familiar zing of excitement and apprehension, the knowledge that this could all be over by tomorrow’s sunset crowding his thoughts.

“We’re close,” Zayn says unnecessarily.

He leads the group, Harry and Louis taking the middle and Niall and Gemma trailing at the end.

It’s dark and Louis is about to suggest they settle down for the night, but his thoughts are interrupted by a baby’s sob. Louis can’t help but gravitate towards it, the sound too heartbreaking. “Hello?”

“Hello?” calls a crisp voice back, one that Louis recognizes.

Louis follows the voice, and then stops in his track as the man rounds a tree trunk and comes into view. “Liam?”

“Louis? Do you know what’s happening in _Over_?” Liam asks. As he comes closer, Louis can see the dark circles beneath his eyes, the pallid skin stretched tight over his cheekbones.

Sophia comes up behind him, the screaming baby shuffling restlessly in her arms. Arianna.

The rest of Louis’ group comes up behind him, twigs snapping beneath their feet.

“Who’s that?” Gemma asks quietly.

Liam glances to her. Recognition flashes across his features, but he’s nowhere near the scrabbling man he was when Louis and Harry first met him.

“I’m Liam. This is my wife Sophia and our daughter Arianna,” Liam explains, a solid hand gripping Sophia’s shoulder as she tries to get Arianna to stop crying. “Just back from a visit to the family.”

“What’s going on?” Zayn asks. “What happened? Why is she crying so much?”

“Zayn?” Liam’s eyebrows lift in recognition. “Zayn! You have to do something. The Cowell’s done—I don’t know. He’s done something. With the witch defeated, we figured it would be safe to go back _Over._ To reunite with our families finally. But as soon as we got into town, we could tell something was wrong.”

“Wrong? In what way?” Harry asks.

“Cold. It was cold. And when we walked into our houses, our families weren’t excited to see Arianna. Normally that’s the first thing they do when they see her! But they looked past her like she wasn’t even there. Something is _wrong!”_ Sophia cries, dropping her head down to Liam’s shoulder in distress.

Arianna’s loud cries echo throughout the forest. Sophia rocks her in her arms, but it does nothing.

“Ice follows wherever we go. We can’t escape it,” Liam shakes his head, crying as well. “First we were separated because of Blaire, and now our family hardly recognizes us because of the Cowell! There’s no catching a break.”

Niall, sensing that Sophia looks to be three seconds from falling over, reaches for Arianna. “May I? I’ve always been good with kids.”

Sophia nods and hands her off easily. She burrows into Liam’s side, tears darkening his plaid shirt.

Niall rocks her, cooing at her as he tickles her belly and talks nonsense in a baby voice.

Her cries quiet as Niall starts to make silly faces at her. She giggles and grabs onto his finger, a growing spit bubble forming from her mouth. Glued to his side, Gemma blows on Arianna’s belly and makes her chubby baby cheeks jiggle.

Sophia watches, exhausted and hanging off of Liam's side, closing her eyes in relief.

All the while, Zayn’s fingers dance over the bottle of poison, purpose growing in his eyes.

~


	13. The Defeat

_~_

_The kingdom changed that day. The trees in the forest grew taller, blocking the sun and shading the area in a thick coat of heavy, dark magic. Simon renamed himself the Cowell and declared himself the ruler of the forest._ Over _fell under Blaire’s rule and trade between the potters and the rest of the kingdom stopped. Peace was halted._

_That is, until Anne had her first child._

_Anne was nervous to see what her child would be like, but Gemma was born perfectly healthy. She was a bit fussier than most babies, but she seemed good and whole._

_Anne loved her unconditionally and tried to put the past behind. Her kingdom followed suit._

_~_

**The Defeat**

~

 _Over_ is unrecognizable in the daylight. The gloom from the forest appears to have transferred itself, cloaking the castle and the cottages with a perpetual rain cloud, distant thunder booming.

The group is huddled at the edge of the forest, strategizing their next move. Arianna is kept pacified in Niall’s arms, sleeping soundly. Sophia and Liam tearfully consider the land, heads bent low in mourning.

“This is even worse than I thought,” Zayn says to himself. “What has he done?”

Liam shakes his head, no answer.

“They live this way,” Liam finally murmurs, gesturing for the group to follow him. They tiptoe to a cottage made of adobe, a crumpling structure placed between two equally rundown houses.

And just as Louis feels the familiar ice creep into his chest, Arianna begins to scream. Beside him, Harry clutches at his chest, Gemma winces, and Sophia and Liam both groan.

“What’s that?” Niall asks, one hand on Gemma’s shoulder in comfort. “What’s going on?”

Zayn’s eyes are calculated, distrustful as he stares at the hand Harry’s placed upon his chest. “It’s the dark magic. They’re feeling the dark magic.”

“Come on then,” Liam’s voice quakes, eyes squeezes shut as though he can will the cold away. “Through the back door.”

Inside, a stoic woman close to Louis’ age greets them. She’s wearing a plain dress and stands with her hip against the kitchen table. Her eyes fall to Arianna first. “What are you doing here with that crying one again?”

A flash of anger crosses Sophia’s face. Niall tries to shush Arianna, bouncing her in his arms as he retreats backwards towards the door.

“This is my sister,” Liam explains. “Ruth, we need to get into the castle.”

“Why are you asking me?” she snaps. She crosses her arms over her chest and clenches her jaw. “Never set foot there, have I?”

“Well, you’ve been around. You’d know better than us what’s going on around here.”

“Yeah,” Ruth glares at him. “When’s the last time you were around, anyway?”

As soon as she says it, Liam looks as though his heart was ripped from his chest.

“Why are you being so short with me?” Liam asks her, his voice quiet and pleading. He reaches for her hand, pulling it out of its fist and holding it steady in his. He’s shaking. “What’s going on with you? This isn’t like you.”

“I—” she blinks out of it suddenly, her expression softening and her gaze steadying. “I actually don’t know. I honestly don’t.”

Without wasting time, Zayn steps towards her. “What’s happened since the Cowell took over the castle?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” she stutters. “It’s been cold. The clay is hard. It’s been—kind of unclear. I’ve been irritable, but I feel like _everyone_ has been, not just me. But I don’t know what’s going on in the castle. We’re not allowed in. I wasn’t lying.”

Zayn sighs and collapses into a seat beside her. “We need to get to work quickly."

“Why?” Sophia asks. “What is it?”

“There’s an overconcentration of dark magic. There’s no counterbalance,” Zayn explains, face held in his hands. “He’s just going to keep getting stronger and leeching the good from others. I don’t want anyone to be affected long term.”

“What?” Ruth looks alarmed. “The good? He’s making us like him?”

“Trying,” Zayn corrects her. “But you’re fully grown. It would take a bit more time for the effects to be irreversible.”

“Oh. What about—” Liam speaks slowly, carefully. “What about someone who’s not fully grown?”

Louis looks to Arianna, Niall’s finger clutched in her palm and her innocent eyes blinking up at him. She’s so young and pure. Louis can’t imagine her growing up to be any less good than Sophia or Liam.

“Niall’s a counterbalance. As long as he’s holding her, she’ll be okay,” Zayn reassures them.

Sophia frowns. “Maybe Niall should bring her back into the forest with me and Liam. So she can get away from all of this.”

“I’m not leaving my wife,” Niall tells her.

“I’m not leaving my brother,” Gemma says.

“I’m not leaving Louis.”

Louis can’t leave Zayn alone to save the kingdom. “I guess we’re all going, then.”

Zayn takes a look at his crew and doesn’t seem to be unimpressed. “We still don’t know what’s going on in the castle. Or how to get in.”

“We got in through the kitchens before,” Harry suggests. “If there’s no other lead, it’s worth a try?”

Zayn considers, then nods.

To the kitchens, then.

~

It turns out the opening leading to the kitchen hallway is still unlocked, still unoccupied. The smell of cooking meat wafts through the cracked-open door to the kitchen, light filtering through and showing that the room is bustling with activity.

“Okay,” Zayn takes in a breath once they settle into the dark, three-door hallway. He pulls out the bottle of poison, holding it reverently. “If I get this into his food and send a kitchen worker to give it to him, then he won’t realize there’s anything suspicious going on.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Louis asks, uncomfortable with the shake in Zayn’s voice. “I could do the poisoning. If someone who actually works in the kitchen gives it to him, then it probably wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“Murder is a loud thought, Louis,” Zayn murmurs. “Thanks, but it’s got to be me. I’ve told you this.”

“You’re doing a good,” Harry reassures him. “Saving the kingdom; that’s so much good.”

“I know.” Zayn gulps and holds his hand out to the door. “I know, but it doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Wish me luck.”

They do, and as it turns out, luck is what they need.

Arianna bursts into tears only moments after Zayn’s entered the kitchen. Niall rocks her and covers her mouth, Sophia holds her hand, and Liam runs a hand through her baby hair, but she only wails louder.

“Jesus,” Niall breathes, cuddling her in closer. “She’s going to get us found!”

No sooner has he said it, Zayn bursts out the door with a hastily put together plate of food in his hands.

“Come on! They knew I wasn’t supposed to be there. We need to get this to the Cowell now!” Zayn proclaims.

Without waiting for further explanation, everyone sprints after Zayn, Niall’s hand still covering Arianna’s wailing mouth.

“We need to find your dad first,” Zayn tells Louis. “We need someone he trusts to give him this! He wouldn’t take food from a stranger! And he’d never take food from me.”

“I don’t know where he is!” Louis says, jogging to keep up. Peas and carrots are flying to the floor due to their pace.

“It’s close to dinner. He’ll be by the dining room probably,” Zayn tells him, unhelpful.

“We’ve never been to the dining room,” Harry tells him. “We’ve only been here once! We can’t help!”

“I’ve been to the dining room!” Niall says, his voice soft to please Arianna. “It’s upstairs! Fourth floor.”

They scurry up, garnering odd looks from castle employees as they pass. They look to be an odd group, Zayn with a plate of conglomerated food and Niall with a screaming baby in his hands.

“Oh dear,” Zayn says. He abruptly stops in his tracks and lets the plate of food clatter to the floor.

“What was that for?” Louis skids to a stop, rushing back to pick up the food from the floor.

But it becomes clear why Zayn stopped only moments later.

At the opposite end of the hallway, the Cowell stares at them with narrowed eyes. He lifts his chin and drifts their way, lips pursed in amusement.

“Zayn. You should know better than to have a gaggle of imbeciles at your side if you’re trying to kill me,” the Cowell chuckles as he approaches them. “I almost think you didn’t try. Was your heart in it?”

Zayn stands his ground, not breaking eye contact. “Surrender the castle, Simon. Let the people of _Over_ free.”

The Cowell’s eyes glow an angry shade of green. “Don’t tell me what to do. You have no power here. This is my land now.”

“As if I had any power before,” Zayn fires back.

He looks absolutely livid, muscles pulled taught as the group cowers behind him. Louis has never been afraid of Zayn before, but he’s radiating a type of hatred and malice that Louis wouldn’t think such a caring man capable of.

“You know as well as I do that only half the forest pled allegiance to me,” the Cowell says, expression struggling to stay neutral.

Louis likes that it makes him angry, feels Harry’s fingers flex against his knuckles in agreement from beside him.

“Is that why you wanted _Over_? Is it easier to bend every creature to your own whim here? Is it easier to make people respect you?” Zayn asks. “Because I can promise nobody respected you before.”

At once, the atmosphere in the hallway freezes even colder than before. Louis doubles over, the wind knocked from him with the sudden force of it. Harry brings a hand to his lower back, lips pressed to his ear to ask if he’s alright, but just as quickly he’s pushing Louis down to his knees. Harry drops down beside him, tackling him as the Cowell lifts a hand.

Zayn mirrors him, blocking the beam of light sent his way, sending it straight back to where Louis had been standing only moments before. The Cowell fires another curse without pause, but Zayn’s reflexes are strong. He blocks that one as well, fear in his eyes as he sends a curse flying the Cowell’s way in retaliation.

“You know your curses are nothing compared to mine,” the Cowell pants, winded from the intensity of the battle. “You’ll never win. Give it up.”

Zayn takes a moment to consider. He lowers his hands and slumps his shoulders forward.

“You’re right.”

With that, a grey fog spreads like fire and wind rushes through Louis’ hair. Louis leans over and coughs, his lungs filled with the fog, but almost as soon as it appeared, it dissipates.

Zayn's place has been overtaken by a broken vial of poison.

The feelings of abandonment and betrayal wash over Louis like a fifty-foot tidal wave. Their last hope—gone. If Louis weren’t already on the floor, he’d keel over in hopelessness.

Zayn. Gone. Someone Louis has grown to like, someone who saved Harry’s life and remedied Niall’s and Gemma’s, someone he’s grown to _trust._ He’s blindsided.

He feels as broken as the vial of poison.

The suddenness of Zayn’s disappearance seems to have shaken the Cowell as well. His eyes dart to the corners of the room, arms still raised as though he’s poised for a sudden attack.

But after a few minutes, Louis prepared for a curse to be sent their way the entire time, the Cowell finally lifts his chin and takes in the six adults and the baby before him.

“Drew?” he calls quietly.

Louis thinks there’s no possible way he heard, but moments later Louis’ father comes hurrying into the hallway.

“I thought I told you to kill these four last time we saw them,” the Cowell gestures to Louis, Harry, Niall, and Gemma. “Can I ask what happened?”

“I—” Drew stutters, his face pale as his eyes fall to Louis, still kneeling on the floor. “I thought I did.”

The Cowell comes close, looking down on him. “Tell me. How did you try to kill them?”

“It was—it was starvation. I locked them in a room, but it appears they’ve escaped,” Drew tries to explain.

“Liar,” the Cowell hisses.

He steps toward the group deliberately, watching with grim satisfaction as they all try to move back. He waves his hand forward, and Louis feels himself rise, until he’s upright with his feet inches above the floor.

The Cowell stops in front of Niall, who’s also floating, and Arianna. He grins and reaches to take her from Niall’s arms, cooing as she screams louder than Louis has heard yet.

“I think it’s time I settle down and teach a young one my ways, don’t you all?” the Cowell taunts them.

He steps away and turns his back to the group, Sophia and Liam hysterical but stuck floating, unable to reach out.

“And you,” the Cowell turns to Drew, his voice lethal. He waves a hand and Louis feels his arms lock to his sides, his body floating forward. “I want you to bring them all up to Blaire’s old bedroom. Now there’s no room for an escape. _Then_ I want you to lock the door and meet me in the kitchens. You’re going to make me dinner before you watch me tear your son limb from limb.”

~

The mood as they ascend the staircase is somber, worse than any funeral Louis has been to.

It feels like they’re floating their way to a purgatory to await their fate.

Even when Louis tries to escape, to run away or hide, he can’t. There’s no escape. The Cowell has made sure of it.

“What is he going to do to my baby?” Sophia demands.

Drew turns to her, his face unreadable. “I won’t let him hurt her. She’ll be alright.”

“What are we going to do?” Louis asks his father, his chest burning with the cold. “Zayn’s gone. Niall can’t smile him to death. Is this it?”

“No,” he promises. He brings a hand to Louis’ shoulder, squeezing too tight. “I’m going to get you out. He’s bargained with me before; maybe he’d do it again.”

But Louis can sense the neither of them believes it. There’s not a good bone in the Cowell’s body. He’s going to be torn limb from limb. Oddly, it doesn’t terrify Louis as wholly as he’d imagine.

The ice in his chest spreads.

They reach an ornate door. Drew pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks it, pushing it open to reveal a giant room with high ceilings and an oversized canopy bed.

“Blaire’s old bedroom,” Niall mumbles to himself. “Weird to be back here.”

They all file inside, bobbing up and down like they’re floating in water. Drew leans against the door, his eyes filling with tears as he watches.

“When the lock clicks, you’ll have free movement of your limbs,” he promises, eyes darting out into the hallway. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. But it’ll be—it’ll be good news.”

He bursts into tears and pulls Louis into his arms, initiating a hug Louis can’t reciprocate. Drew wipes below his eye and turns to the door, his posture defeated, body screaming out that he needs to get out.

Louis feels the same way.

Drew shuts the door and the lock clicks, and Louis lands back on his feet.

“How high up are we, Niall?” Harry asks as soon as he’s regained his balance, rushing over to a wide window. “Do you think we could survive a jump?”

Niall shakes his head. “Top of the castle. No way.”

Harry’s fists tighten against his sides. He turns and surveys the room, eyes dancing across the bed and the soft-looking chairs, to the two side-by-side mirrors and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“There has to be a way out. We have to get out. And we’re _never_ coming back,” Harry seems to be talking to himself, eyeing up the chandelier.

“Never coming back? But what about Arianna?” Sophia demands, eyes rimmed red with nonstop tears. “What are we supposed to do about my baby? She was kidnapped right in front of my face! How are you going to solve that, _Prince?”_

Harry looks as though he was slapped, tension in the room heightening. “I’m not sure how we’re supposed to save her when we’re all lying dead on the floor!”

“Harry,” Louis touches his wrist, trying to calm him. “We’re not going to die. We need to think of a plan.”

Across the room, Niall does the same for Sophia.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do since we got here?” Harry asks Louis, shaking him from his wrist. “I’m the only one trying to think productively!” He sends a murderous look Sophia’s way. “So if you’re just going to complain and think negatively, then I don’t want to hear it!”

“Her baby was just _stolen,”_ Louis tells him in a quiet voice. “Why are you being like this?”

Harry turns away from him. “You don’t understand. We need to leave. You need to get out.”

He walks back towards the window and aims his foot to the wall, as though somehow he’d be strong enough to kick through.

“Harry, calm down,” Louis tells him. He grabs his arm and leads him to one of the chairs by the fireplace, sitting him down and clambering on top of him. It’s a bold move to straddle him, more showy than he’s allowed himself to be with Harry around so many others, but Harry’s face is red and he’s shaking and Louis doesn’t feel quite so stable either.

After a short but intense staring contest, Harry breaks, dropping his forehead to Louis’ clavicle. His first inhale is like a man half-submerged in water. When he speaks, his voice is shot, shattered to pieces, fragile and hardly more than a final gasping breath. “He said limb from limb. I can’t watch that. I’d rather it be me.”

He sobs openly into Louis’ chest. Louis holds him through it, fingers pressed to the nape of his neck and lips to his crown. Harry’s breath does nothing to warm the ice in his heart, an ice that feels as though it’s spreading, a cold that Louis is finding more and more difficult to ignore.

“My dad won’t let it happen,” Louis promises him, but he knows it’s a promise to be broken. A promise built on despair and emptiness, a single drop of water in an inevitable drought.

“I won’t let it happen either,” Harry agrees, hiccupping on his sob, kissing Louis through his shirt. “I won’t.”

“Then we need to figure out what we’re going to do,” Louis tells him. He pulls back and wipes below Harry’s eyes, trying to smile. “No more sadness. We need to think critically.”

“A few more seconds of sadness,” Harry requests, pulling him in close from the front of his shirt.

The kiss is short and sloppy, wet and sad, but Louis indulges him, kisses back with all he has. He brings Harry’s palm to his chest, wincing at the pain there, begging for warmth.

“Okay,” Harry breathes out as he pulls away. “Let’s figure it out, then. Together.”

Louis climbs off of Harry and offers him his hand, refuses to let go once he’s standing.

Sophia and Liam are both curled into each other, sobbing at the foot of the bed, not of rational mind. Gemma and Niall are hand in hand by the oversized mirrors, pointing to a corner.

Louis tugs Harry over to join them.

“What’s this?” Louis asks.

“Blaire used these to spy on her sister and the Cowell. I was just wondering what they do now,” Niall says, poking at the glass. “Now that she’s gone.”

“I wanted to see if maybe we could see how mum is,” Gemma explains.

“But they’re all foggy. I don’t think they were foggy before, even though that whole time’s a bit foggy now,” Niall scratches behind his neck.

“Alright,” Louis looks into the mirror for a few beats, but he doesn’t see any use in wasting his time here. “Harry and I are going to search for vents and trap doors. Maybe you should try to use your magic for good and get us out of here.”

“I don’t even have any magic!” Niall sounds frustrated. “Zayn obviously lied about a lot, so I don’t know why I’d believe him on this. I don’t want to be associated with someone like him, or like the Cowell, or like Blaire. I don’t want magic on my hands.”

At the mention of Zayn’s betrayal, Louis feels the ice in his chest solidify. He winces, vaguely concerned that nobody else seems to be in as much pain as him.

“Play with the lock anyway. There’s no point in not trying,” Louis tells him.

 

Minutes later, Gemma gasps. “I think there’s something in here!”

She’s standing in front of the mirrors, hand covering her mouth. “It’s the Cowell but it’s also… I think that’s Blaire!”

“What?” Louis almost slips from atop Harry’s shoulders, fingernails scratching at the wall he was inspecting. He taps Harry at the side with his foot to get him to let him down, and then rushes over to see.

There, before the swirling grey fog, stands Blaire. She looks younger, softer, less worn by the world, and confused.

“Is that really you?” Blaire asks through the glass. “Gemma? Is that you?”

“It’s me!” Gemma confirms, eyes wide in disbelief. “What’s going on? Where did you go?”

Blaire squints into the glass. “I didn’t really go anywhere. I’ve been here since the explosion. I can’t move on but I also can’t stay here. I’m stuck.”

“Why?” Gemma asks. She presses a palm to the glass, reaching out. “Why are you stuck?”

Blaire follows suit, until they’re both touching through the glass, palms pressed together. “I’m stuck because things aren’t right between me and my sister. I couldn’t leave without her forgiveness, I think. Or until things were at least resolved. I think I’d like to apologize to her before I go.”

Gemma frowns. “We’re not doing too well ourselves, but—”

“You disobeyed me! You directly disobeyed me! I told you to kill them!” comes a loud voice from the second mirror, stealing all of Louis’ attention.

Louis turns to the second mirror because, though the fog makes it murky, the mirror shows the Cowell and his father arguing in the kitchens.

Drew has a half-peeled potato clutched in his hand, tears streaming down his face, and blood dripping from his forehead.

“We had a deal! You went back on mine, so it’s only fitting I take away the effects of your end of the bargain.”

“Please,” Drew begs senselessly, the potato dropping to the floor. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t stop,” the Cowell roars, waving his arm so Drew picks the potato up from the floor. “A useless lump, as always. I never should have allowed you to join me. You’re no help and without Blaire here, I have no use for your son or his dumb royal posse.”

The Cowell raises his arm to strike him and Louis turns his face, burrowing into Harry’s side, shielding his eyes from the following cry of pain.

“When we get out, we’ll make sure we get you to her,” Gemma promises quietly beside them.

~

There’s a knock on the door.

“We can’t open it,” Harry yells, the rumble vibrating against Louis’ cheek. Louis hasn’t moved.

Moments later, the door clicks. Louis finally forces himself to move, wiping below his eyes as he turns to the door, expecting a fight of some sort.

But when the door opens, the figure isn’t even close to who Louis was expecting.

It’s Zayn—out of breath, with a rip in his shirt, and more terrified than Louis has ever seen, but it’s Zayn.

Louis can’t feel much more than bafflement and a vague sting. “What’re you doing here? I thought you left. We saw. You dropped the poison. _You left.”_

Zayn hurries inside and grabs Louis’ wrist, trying to pull him from Harry’s arms.

“I think I need you.”

Louis shakes his head and backs away, backs into familiar arms and someone who’s never let him down. “We needed you and you _left_ us _.”_

“Listen,” Zayn runs a hand through his hair. “You need to come with me. Everything is going to be okay. It will be. But I think you’ll regret if you don’t come with me. It might not be okay if you don’t come with me.”

“Why should we trust anything you say?” Louis asks, looking up to see his confusion mirrored in Harry’s eyes.

Zayn’s voice is flat. “What do you have to lose?”

“Why only Louis?” Harry asks. “Why do you want him and nobody else? Why can’t we all help?”

“Loud voices,” Zayn reminds them. “He’ll get suspicious. I need everyone else in here, where he wants you to be. _Please_ stay in here. Where he thinks you are.”

“What about our baby?” Sophia cries from the edge of the bed. “What about her?”

“Listen,” Zayn breathes out, forcing a smile. “Just, Louis, come with me. Everyone’s going to be fine. But I need Louis first.”

Something about Zayn’s expression persuades Louis, an unexpected honesty and urgency that makes Louis’ heart uneasy. Against his better judgment, he trusts him. He might have left, but he’s come back. That must count for something.

“Okay,” Louis agrees slowly, breathing deep and shaking the memories of the mirror from his mind. “Okay, I’ll come. Nothing sneaky, right?”

Zayn shakes his head and holds the door open for him. “Nothing sneaky at all. Only good things.”

“Are you sure?” Harry whispers. “Maybe a few of us can come—”

“No! Just Louis,” Zayn answers for him.

“It’ll be okay,” Louis reassures him. “I trust him. He has a good heart.”

Harry blinks, disbelief plain on his face. “I don’t trust him.”

“But you trust me, right?” Louis asks.

Harry nods and, with an unhappy whine in the back of his throat, pulls him in for a kiss. It’s a kiss of control, claiming with no reticence. Harry glares at Zayn as he lets go of Louis, frowning as he steps away to stand by Gemma’s side.

“Don’t make him regret it,” Harry sends Zayn’s way, venomous as Gemma lays a comforting hand on his arm.

Once Louis’s at the door, Zayn covers his forehead with a hand.

“Blocking your thoughts,” he explains quietly as Louis leans back in confusion. “That’s why it can only be you.”

“Where are we going?” Louis asks in a whisper. Zayn shuts the door and it clicks locked again, but Louis still follows his lead. “Why did you want me?”

“We’re going to the dining room. Because that’s where the wine I poisoned is. And where the Cowell is,” Zayn explains. “Or, will be. In a moment.”

“No. You dropped the poison to the floor,” Louis tries to pull away, but Zayn grabs on to his hair, stopping him.

“Do you honestly think I told you my real plan?” Zayn asks as though Louis is a fool. “With thoughts as loud as Niall’s? No. No way. Getting caught was part of the plan. Making him think the threat was gone was part of the plan. I knew we wouldn’t get into the castle undiscovered. It wasn’t possible.”

“What?” Louis asks, still stuck on the poison. “There were two vials?”

“Now you’re catching on,” Zayn nods. He tiptoes as they descend the staircase, his ear turned out as though he’s listening intently. “However, there was a problem with the plan.”

Louis almost misses a step. “What kind of problem?”

“A problem wherein I accidentally involved someone who wasn’t originally a part of the plan,” Zayn closes his eyes in shame.

“Is Arianna alright?” Louis asks urgently.

Zayn nods. “She’ll be okay soon. It’s about your dad.”

“My dad?” Louis’ voice raises a bit.

“Yes. Your dad. He ran into me just as I was leaving the dining room. Just after I added the poison. I was happy and relieved. But above all, I was careless. I didn’t think about routes or whether there would be anyone else to avoid other than the Cowell. I knew he was already down in the kitchens, waiting. I thought I was in the clear.”

Louis doesn’t comprehend. “So why does this involve my dad? How is he involved?”

“He might have seen me. So I might have tackled him,” Zayn bites his lip.

“What? You tackled him? I’m not following?”

Footsteps echo in the hall, so Zayn pulls Louis into an empty room, ear to the door as they wait it out.

“If your dad saw me and recognized me, then the Cowell would know in an instant exactly what happened. He was listening to his thoughts. He was making sure you were in the room. Much less intently once it was locked, but he was still listening enough that he’d hear an especially loud thought. So, obviously, I had to block his thoughts before the Cowell could know. So I tackled him.”

Zayn cracks the door open and pulls them both back into the hallway.

“How is he involved though?” Louis presses.

“Obviously, he didn’t know the plan. So he was angry with me for leaving. Rightfully so, I must add,” Zayn sends Louis a pleading look.

“I’m not upset,” Louis tells him. “You’re here.”

“I knew as soon as I let him go, his thoughts would be screaming. But then if I didn’t let him go, then something would still be off because the Cowell was expecting him in the kitchens. So I had to tell him what I did to make him stop screaming.”

“You told him about the poison?” Louis realizes.

“Yes. He knows the wine is poisoned and he’s going to pour it for the Cowell during his dinner. And if his thoughts aren’t controlled as he does it then the Cowell won’t drink the wine. And then I’m going to have to try to kill him myself, which won’t end well because I am a simple potion brewer and not a murderer. So that would be a disastrous scenario.”

Zayn looks more frazzled and stressed than Louis has ever seen him.

“Why did you bring me here, then? Why not Niall? He’s a little bit magical; maybe he could have helped you somehow? I’m not seeing how I can do anything to help.”

“Niall could never kill someone,” Zayn shakes his head.

“I probably couldn’t either,” Louis admits.

“But you’re Drew’s son and you’re both branded with the same magic,” Zayn points to Louis’ ankle with his free hand. “That’s a bond that’s tangible to those connected. He can feel when you’re close. You can too, but your body isn’t acclimatized to magic in the same way. It’s unconscious for you.”

“Okay?” Louis asks. “How would that help at all?”

“Are you daft?” Zayn stops and stares into his eyes. “Have you never heard of mothers having enough strength to push horses off their children? Or parents being able to run nonstop for days to find their children a doctor? It’s because of adrenaline.”

“Yes, but—”

“With a child to protect, parents can do the impossible. And if you’re close and in danger, like now, then he’ll have a rush adrenaline in the brain. That clouds a majority of thoughts not pertaining to survival. It’ll make it easier for him to control what he thinks, especially because he’s never studied mind control like the Cowell or me. If he senses you close, it’ll activate the adrenaline and, as long as his mind isn’t screaming murder, his thoughts will be quiet enough that the Cowell won’t be suspicious. It’s almost impossible to keep your thoughts quiet during an act like murder, but because it’s to protect you, I think he’ll be able to do it."

They make it to the dining room. The door is open a crack, allowing them both to see in. Inside, there’s a long table, set for just one. The Cowell sits at the head of the table, baby Arianna crying mutely at the other end, lying straight across the table top with no blanket or pillow below her. Louis aches for her and wants to reach out for her, but he knows their cover will be ruined.

“So my dad is the one who’s going to try to kill him?” Louis clarifies, his voice a whisper.

Zayn nods. “He’s _going_ to kill him. You and adrenaline are enough. I’m not very worried.”

“That makes one of us,” Louis gulps.

“He’s going to come in soon,” Zayn pants beside Louis’ ear. “Touch your ankle. He might be able to feel it. He needs to feel you close.”

Louis leans down to touch his ankle and strokes it, feeling silly watching the Cowell kick his feet up and sit and stare at his nails as he waits for his meal. The situation doesn’t feel dangerous, doesn’t feel immediate.

That is, until Drew walks into the room with a plate of food.

He sets it in front of the Cowell and wrings his hands together.

“I doubt this will be sufficient,” the Cowell doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “This looks overcooked.”

Louis feels powerless watching, his freezing chest pounding and shards of ice pumping through his veins.

The Cowell takes a bite of chicken and frowns. He doesn’t hesitate before he throws the meat directly at Drew’s cheek.

“Have you never cooked chicken before? It’s dry as bone. Bring me my wine!”

Zayn’s palm begins to sweat against Louis’ forehead. Drew jerks out a nod and retreats to follow orders.

Louis watches as the Cowell shovels potatoes into his mouth. He sinks to his knees on the floor as breathing becomes more difficult, air coming in cold. Zayn follows him to the ground.

Drew comes back into the room with a glass in one hand, a corked bottle in the other. He sets the glass on the table and uses a knife to uncork the bottle, then pours it into the glass.

His hand shakes, but not enough to raise suspicion.

“I corked it back so it seemed not to be tampered with,” Zayn mumbles to himself.

Louis nods, unable to do anything else as the Cowell takes the glass in his hand.

The Cowell looks up into Drew’s eyes, squinting. And Louis’ nails dig crescent moons into the wooden floor as his entire body locks into place.

“You know,” the Cowell laughs, bringing the wine to his lips. “Since you’re so inept, it’s probably better that you left home so early. Imagine a woman happy to be married to a man that can’t even cook chicken.”

He chuckled and sips, and nothing seems to change. The Cowell shakes his head, licks his lips, and brings his fork back into his hand. He prods at his vegetables and then—

His body slumps, fork clattering to the ground as his face falls forward into potatoes and cooked peas.

And Louis doesn’t know what he was expecting. Perhaps a dramatic ending like the one with Blaire. Perhaps the chill to leave his chest immediately and sunlight to return to the kingdom once more.

But nothing changes except for the fact that the Cowell isn’t breathing anymore. Louis doesn’t feel any sense of emotion like he did during Blaire’s death, the room doesn’t change color, and it’s an ordinary death for an ordinary man that thought too highly of himself.

In the end, he died pathetically, a mouth full of potatoes and a heart void of substance.

The following seems to happen in slow motion, in bursts of clarity and fog, moments of understanding and disbelief: Louis rushing into the dining room, handing Arianna off to Zayn, hugging his _dad,_ his dad who’s free and mostly unscathed. Running upstairs, skin vibrating as he waits for Zayn to catch up and unlock the door to Blaire’s bedroom, tripping inside. The ice in his chest subsiding, thawing into cold water rather than something too solid to pass.

Falling into Harry, kissing him more deeply than ever before in between explanation, in between touching his face and realizing that he's here to stay, _they’re_ here to stay. Niall joining in on their celebration by jumping on top of them, Harry and Gemma hugging, Sophia and Liam kissing every inch of Arianna’s face. Zayn standing to the side with a small smile, one that doesn’t slide off his face when Louis pulls him into perhaps the biggest hug of all, thanking him over and over and over.

Collapsing into his dad’s arm, reveling in a hug that doesn’t quite feel natural yet, but one that Louis hopes he has years and years to acclimatize to.

~

As the cold disappears, the townspeople begin to gather around the castle.

Detaching Blaire’s mirror and getting it down the staircases takes ages, so by the time the entire group makes it out the front gates into the grass, they have a confused mass of people to answer to.

“Sophia? Liam? Is that you? What’s going on?” an old man towards the front of the conglomeration asks.

Sophia, busy with bouncing Arianna and making silly faces at her, doesn’t look up.

“The Cowell is gone,” Liam announces. “The castle is empty. I’m not sure where we go from here, to be honest.”

He turns to Harry, questions in his eyes.

Harry nods and steps forward, clearing his throat. He surveys the townspeople with a smile. “Trade between kingdoms will open up again.”

The crowd lets out a cheer at that.

“But I don’t know exactly,” he turns around to face Gemma, lowering his voice. “What do you say, Queen? I don’t think it would be fair of us to take back the land after all of this. They’ve been through so much with rulers who have forced themselves upon them.”

Gemma steps forward and grabs his hand, joining in on the address.

 _“Over_ will be an autonomous nation. Our side of the kingdom will always support your land and allow trade and migration, but there will be no rules, regulations, or restrictions placed upon you. After so many years of corrupt government, that wouldn’t would be fair.”

The crowd gives a hesitant, scattered round of applause.

“But then who’s going to stay in the castle?” a woman from the crowd asks. “What’s the point of a castle without a ruler?”

Liam speaks up, his voice timid but clear. “What if we simply used it for the community? Children could play there. Our doctors could stay there. We could have training there, for jobs other than potting. If we’re free, then we can do whatever we want with it.”

“Hear, hear!”

“I’d like that," Liam nods to himself, eyebrows furrowed as he glances Arianna's way. "I’d like my child to grow up knowing there’s no place that’s off limits to her. I’d like her having somewhere to go to meet friends and to get patched up if she’s scraped her knee. The monarchy hasn’t worked for us for as long as I’ve been here. Maybe it’s time we try something new.”

The crowd shares impressed smiles. A chant breaks out, one that Louis can’t make out until it comes out clear and strong.

“Liam for president! Liam for president!”

The crowd grows unruly with their joy, tentative plans for a feast and independence celebration joining the chant.

“They’ve taken to you quickly,” Harry smiles to Liam. “You might want to make a vote of it, but I think they trust you. You’ll be a good ruler.”

Liam’s eyes are wide as he looks out over the adoring town chanting his name. “I don’t think I’m leader material, Harry.”

“I trust that you won’t let _Over_ fall apart,” Gemma addresses Liam directly.

“I couldn’t,” Liam promises."But, goodness..."

“I wouldn’t let him,” Sophia agrees, Arianna’s finger wrapped around her pinky. “You’ll come back to see us though, right? And to check in on us?”

“Of course,” Gemma answers, pressing close to Sophia so she can touch Arianna’s forehead. “Both for professional and personal reasons. I don’t want to miss this one as she grows up. With parents as wonderful as hers, she’s going to be a great little girl.”

After hugs for Liam and Sophia and baby kisses for Arianna, it’s time to make their way back home.

Louis feels like crying as he watches Liam and Sophia reunite with their family in the still-growing crowd, smiles everywhere.

Louis hitches the end of Blaire’s mirror over his shoulder and nods to Harry that he’s ready to go, and then they begin their trek through the grass to the edge of the forest, leaving _Over_ behind.

This time, Louis knows they’ll be back.

Only a few steps in, though, Louis realizes their group is one person too small. He looks over his shoulder, searching, until he finds his dad standing hesitantly at the base of the castle.

“Wait,” Louis calls to Harry.

Harry stops and looks over his shoulder, confused.

“Dad,” Louis calls, the word still getting stuck in his throat. “What are you waiting for?”

~

Traveling with an oversized mirror becomes significantly easier when Sam joins them.

He comes galloping through the trees, grey as he was with the purple fairies, and heads straight for Harry.

Louis almost drops the mirror in fear, but Sam stops short of ramming into him and instead pushes his nose into Harry’s hair.

And with Zayn and Drew’s knowledge of the ins and outs of the forest, they make it to Zayn’s cottage in no time, the mirror tied to Sam’s back as they travel.

~

“Alright,” Zayn pours the last of the potion into the bottle, shaking it to be sure he doesn’t miss a drop. “I need you to take this every morning. Just a gulp is enough.”

Gemma smiles as she takes the bottle and pulls him into a hug. “Thanks so much, Zayn.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the castle with us? My mum will be eager to meet you,” Harry tries to persuade Zayn for the last time.

Zayn shakes his head. He looks around at his cottage, grins at where Perrie and Jade are snoozing in his windowsill tired from their emotional reunion, and purposefully plops down in a seat at his table.

“I’m happy here. And I’ll see you in a month, anyway. You’ll need your refill,” Zayn reminds her. “My door is always open for any of you, though. For a chat, for a potion. For anything.”

Zayn’s goodbye is difficult for Louis. How are you supposed to thank someone who saved not only you, the love of your life, and the entire kingdom, multiple times?

“Thanks so much for everything,” Louis sniffles, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry I was upset with you after you left.”

“I wouldn’t have been happy with myself either,” Zayn’s voice sounds teary too. “What matters is that I came back. And everyone is safe again.”

Louis promises to come back to visit soon.

And then they’re back on the run, the final stretch of the forest before them.

~

After the glowing fairy bridge, Louis’ heart begins to race. They’re close. They’re so close.

The entire group seems to feel it. Their steps grow longer, their voices grow louder and more excited, and the deep-rooted exhaustion becomes easier to ignore.

At the first sight of the castle, everyone cries.

They run.

But as soon as they reach the end of the forest, the entire kingdom presented before them, Louis looks to his mum’s cottage and most everyone else sets their sights on the castle.

Harry takes Louis’ hand into his from beside him. It takes a moment for him to tear his gaze from the kingdom, but his gaze settles on Louis.

His smile is simple. “We did it.”

“We did,” Louis agrees with a smile. And though it’s a true smile, there’s something gnawing at his heart that makes it feel insincere. It’s different from the ice, a more distant ache that Louis can’t yet put his finger on. He pushes that thought to the back of his mind, focusing on what they have right now, all that they’ve accomplished.

Harry seems to be struggling with words, eyes tearing up as he takes a glance at the castle, to where Sam, Niall, and Gemma are already hurrying forward.

“Go,” Louis tells him. He brings their joined hands to his lips and kisses over Harry’s knuckle, where a ring will sit one day. “I’ll see you later tonight. At home.”

Harry nods, his eyes wet. “Home. I like that.”

And with a quick, promising kiss and an additional hug for Drew too, Harry sprints forward, catching up to Gemma in no time, jumping on her back and tackling her to the floor.

“Are you ready?” Louis asks Drew, recognizing that there’s an overdue meeting for Louis to facilitate. “It’s been how long? Almost twenty years?”

Drew nods, his lips pale. “Will I be welcomed well?”

Louis nods and brings a hand to Drew’s back, leading him forward. “If there’s any forgivable reason for leaving for so long, then yours is at the top of the list.”

“It’s been so long,” Drew shivers. “I’m a bit nervous.”

Louis grins at the familiar curtains as they make it to the cobblestone pathway.

“No reason to be. With an explanation, it’ll be like you never left,” Louis promises.

“But—the children! They’re not mine. What if they don’t take to me? So much can change in twenty years.”

“My sisters are the most loving bunch of girls I’ve ever known. They’ll love you,” Louis says, no doubt in his mind.

Louis gulps as one of said girls comes flying out the front door, dashing their way.

It’s Lottie, and she jumps on Louis as soon as he’s within reach. Her nails dig into his shoulders as her limbs squeeze him so tight he can’t breathe.

“You didn’t say goodbye!” she yells before she kisses him on the cheek. “Do you know how worried we’ve been? How worried _everyone’s_ been?”

She lets herself back down and wipes below her eyes, and Louis can see the physical toll his leaving has had on her.

“There was no time,” Louis explains honestly. “I wanted to. I really wanted to, but it was goodbye or leave Harry alone to die in the forest. I knew that I’d come back for you.”

Lottie nods to herself, wiping below her eyes discreetly. She glances at Drew from the corner of her eye. “Who’s that?”

“Where’s mum?” Louis doesn’t answer.

“Out back hanging things to dry. You’re going to make her cry,” Lottie tells him. "So much."

“Come on,” Louis gestures for her and Drew to both follow him. He feels the gnawing in his chest pause as they approach the clothesline, where his mum is hidden by a white sheet blowing in the wind.

“Mum,” Louis addresses her. “There’s someone I need to reintroduce you to.”

~

There’s something to be said about sleeping in a bed. There’s something to be said about coming home to comfort and safety after so long with no stability.

Louis whispers them all into Harry’s neck.

Harry’s _(their,_ Harry reminds him) bed is like a tiny slice of heaven, a place that makes it easy to pretend there’s nobody but him and Harry, no outside world and no inevitable _time to face the real world_ again in the morning.

He’d been relieved from his position and his family offered a spot inside the castle, but it’s all such a sudden change that he isn’t sure what he’ll _do_ anymore. He’s not sure how he feels about his life suddenly feeling flipped now that he has time to reflect.

He’d never had the time to cultivate hobbies or to figure out what he wanted out of life, so he now feels absolutely lost. He knows he wants Harry, and he knows that he wants his family to have a nice life, and he knows that he wants the kingdom to be safe, but he’s a man of simple wishes. He doesn’t know what else he needs.

He’s in bed with Harry, his family is reunited and moving into a living space with sufficient insulation, and Blaire and the Cowell are both gone.

He has everything he needs and he should be so happy he can't stop smiling. But instead, it’s left him feeling unsettled, the gnawing in his chest back with a vengeance as he lies comfortably with the love of his life.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

“What’re you thinking?” Harry asks, a piece of Louis’ hair threaded through his fingers.

“That I feel lost,” Louis admits. “We’ve had such a clear goal for so long, and now that we’ve reached it, I don’t really know where to go from here?”

“Mmm,” Harry nods in agreement. He brings a bare leg to Louis’ waist and pulls him in closer to him. “Why don’t we sleep on it? Sleep helps everything.”

“Can we talk first?” Louis asks, sitting up and clutching at his chest. The blanket falls, exposing his chest to the chill of the castle.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees seriously. He sits up beside Louis, his gaze intent.

And it takes Louis a moment to gather his thoughts, but when what's truly weighing on his mind surfaces, it takes him by surprise.

“You mum can forgive her sister for her betrayal, my mum can forgive my dad for leaving, Gemma can forgive Niall for forgetting her and Blaire for cursing her, my sister can forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye, and the fairies even forgave us for coming to take their blood. But I don’t know if I can do the same thing.”

"They didn't really forgive her. They just didn't want to hate her anymore," Harry argues.

"Exactly. I don't want to feel angry anymore."

“What do you mean?” Harry asks. “Who do you need to forgive? We can talk to them.”

“That’s the thing... I don’t know,” Louis feels the ache tighten. “I don’t know who the blame falls on for everything we’ve had to go through. Now that Blaire and the Cowell are gone, there’s nowhere for my anger to be directed. I just feel angry and I’m not sure how it’s going to go away because there’s nobody to apologize to us for it. We went through so much. I can’t just forget.”

Harry breathes deep, fingers dancing across Louis’ hip. Thinking.

“I think maybe the anger will never go away completely,” Harry says. “Maybe it’s something that you’ll carry with you, until one day you don’t notice it as much.”

“Maybe,” Louis nods. He shakes his head and lies back down, more tired than he’s ever been before. He pulls Harry close against his chest, shaking as the memories of the past month wash over him one last time.

Harry turns in his arms, lips pressed to Louis’ forehead as Louis tries not to cry. It feels pathetic to cry _now,_ now that it’s all no more than a distant memory and a scar on Harry’s chest.

“I think it’s normal to feel shaken after what we’ve been through. Everyone processes things differently, and everyone feels things differently, but we’re safe now. Your family is safe and they know _you’re_ safe. Your dad is back. My mum is happy that we’re here. The Cowell and Blaire will never hurt anyone again. Gemma and Niall are in love again and safe. It doesn’t change what happened, or how it happened, but there are only good things to look forward to in the future. The anger will pass, eventually, I think.”

Louis nods and presses his fingers to Harry’s chest, feeling the raised edges of his scar. “I hope.”

~

 


	14. Epilogue

~

It passes in waves, in smiles and in laughter and in quiet moments of reflection.

It passes when Louis walks by the portrait of Blaire as a child, dusted off and hung at the top of the staircase.

It passes during weekly visits to Zayn’s cottage, during the conversation that follows, during Zayn’s wise advice and shy smile.

During the trip _Over_ with Harry’s toy train clutched in his hands, a gift to Arianna.

When Perrie backflips after he catches her thrown berry in his mouth.

When Louis finds that he’s talented with a sword, finding professional purpose he’s never held before.

When Louis is Knighted before the entire kingdom.

During Niall and Gemma’s do-over wedding party, when he’s the one that gets to dance with Harry and kiss him once the lights are dim.

When Cara finally gets to dance with the person she’s had her eye on while Anne wanted her to be with Harry.

When Lottie tells him she’s happy with a welder she met when he was gone and she was inconsolable.

When his parents hold hands during dinner.

When he makes love to Harry and they fall asleep on top of fluffy pillows, wrapped up in each other for another night of uninterrupted sleep.

When their rings glint in the sun during their announcement to the kingdom.

When he hugs his mum and she says she’s proud of him.

 

Forgiveness doesn’t come all at once. It’s an accumulation of time passed, new memories, and opening his heart to all the world has to offer him.

Forgiveness is a choice he made, a choice that freed his heart of the heavy weight that held it down.

Forgiveness is what propels Louis forward.

The world continues to turn and Louis doesn’t intend on being left behind.

~

"To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."

Lewis B. Smedes

~

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com)
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> please reblog the [fic post](http://thedarkestlarrie.tumblr.com/post/137263222681/fic-in-the-clear-author-aclosetlarryshipper) if you liked it :)
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